Breakdown
by StrawberryBlues
Summary: There are a lot of things Laxus Dreyar and Cana Alberona don't do. What happens when the walls keeping them apart start to break down, one by one? A series of interconnected one-shots. Rated M for explicit language and content.
1. Attachment

**Author's Note: This is a LEMON, rated M (contains explicit sexual material)! If you do not wish to read this content, skip ahead to chapter 2.**

_Cana Alberona doesn't do attachment._

His body presses hers back into the shadows of the guild wall, hips cradled hot and hard between hers. He's bigger than her, taller even at this angle, and his arms crush her against him like steel bands. His mouth rakes down her throat, sucks hard at her pulse point— she can feel her breath coming fast and ragged. His fingers slide into her thick brown hair, shaking it loose from its ponytail, letting the heavy tresses cascade down around them both. She throws her head back and _gasps_ as he pulls her down against him in a slow, voluptuous glide_. _He just feels so good against her, so _right_,that it's all she can do to not moan out loud.

The wall rubs roughly against her silky, overheated skin. It reminds her that they're doing this at the guild, behind the stairs where someone could walk in on them at any second, and the thought sends a burning flush through her entire body. It's just so _hot, _the way his back muscles flex as he moves, the kind of breathless groan he makes as she molds herself to him. When they're like this, it's so perfect that she barely remembers that he isn't hers to keep.

She's never been the most virginal of the guild members, never been one to turn down offers of sensuality or physical pleasure. She knows her assets, uses her beauty shamelessly when she can, doesn't mind using more when it's needed. She remembers when they first discovered the heat between them, one drunken night when Lucy dared her to dance on top of the bar and she did, climbing up and arching her back and swiveling her hips for the world to see. She was numb by that point, lost in a haze of alcohol, but she felt his eyes flicking over her body as she danced. She knew she looked good, flushed and sensual, and she flaunted it on top of that bar. Once she slid off the bartop and he met her gaze with hot, searching eyes, she tugged him back behind the guild. He crowded her back into the wall and they lost themselves, together, in the darkness for the first time. They've had dozens of more times since then. She keeps waiting for the heat between them—because it's _just_ heat— to fade. But it never does.

Her skin burns, her lips tingling and swollen as he slides his hands around her back and fits her more firmly against his front, hips locked in a glorious meld. She wraps her legs around his waist even tighter. He skims his hands under her blue bikini top, caressing the sensitive skin with just the pads of his fingers until she bites back a groan. She twines her arms around his neck, pulling herself against him, burying her hands in his soft blonde spikes.

"Cana—" he gasps raggedly, breathless from the burn of her satiny skin on his. She can feel him, hard and ready against her thigh. Her skin sears where he touches her, so hot that it hurts. Something twists in her stomach at the look in his eyes, dark and needy, making her body yearn for his touch. She knows he feels the same when she twists in his arms, grinding hard against him, and he ducks his head into the curve of her neck and _groans._

"Yes—" she gasps, and he doesn't wait any longer before his hands skim her pants from her hips and her fingers make quick work of his own trousers and he's finally free and ready and—

Oh. _Oh._ He fills her completely and she can't breathe because of the sheer heat of it_._ He hisses a curse under his breath as he slides in to the hilt, the cords of his neck standing out with the strain of going slow. She tilts her head forward to nuzzle his collarbone, admiring the starkness of his black tattoo against the gold planes of his chest, then bites, _hard. _She wants to mark him, no matter how shallow her desire is. She wants to see a tangible sign that, only in this moment, he, Laxus Dreyar, is hers. Because she knows that this moment, this wonderful feeling of completion, is just an illusion. She knows that the spell always breaks in the end.

She feels the delicious warmth of his skin against hers, arches her back and gasps as he grinds torturously against her, nearly keens out loud from the ache of her pleasure as he decides to thrust into her as hard as he can. She trembles and comes apart in his arms as he buries his face in her throat and groans, reaching his own peak. She recognizes the very moment that he pulls away from her and lowers her gently to her feet, slipping back into his pants and pulling his unbuttoned shirt over his starkly tattooed shoulders. He flashes her a grin, dark and satisfied, filled with rising heat. "Damn, woman, you're something else. Thought I'd turn inside out."

She snorts indelicately, forcing down the thrilling warmth in favor of her normal cocky brashness. Her skin stings as she pulls on her pants. "You'll never be a romantic bastard, Dreyar, that's for certain."

He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, caging her against the wall with his forearms on either side of her head. He moves like a panther, limbs swinging with feline grace. His lips curl up at the corners and her breathing involuntarily starts to speed with anticipation. That traitorous heat _burns_ in her cheeks as she stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed. He bends past her lips, brushes his mouth over her jaw and throat to whisper in her ear—

"I'll see you around, Alberona." And he leaves, shirt still open over his muscled chest as he strides back into the light and noise of the guild. She watches him go with thick-lashed indigo eyes, then turns away, because she knows that she'll cave to his sloe-eyed smirk just as easily the next time. She can't say no to this man, can't resist the brightness of his body or the darkness of his eyes. She can't say no, because even though Cana Alberona doesn't do attachment, _dammit, _her body doesn't seem to have gotten the message.

"Cana! Hey, Cana!" Lucy, innocent, pure Lucy, calls to her from the bar, catching sight of her as she walks into the main room. Lucy's sitting with Levy and Erza, sharing a plate of vanilla cookies, exchanging gossip about missions and Bisca and Alzack's non-relationship and Natsu's cleaning habits. They wave at her with bright smiles, and all Cana can do is paste a grin on her face, toss back her hair, and sashay over to their table to join in with gusto.

She doesn't look at the blonde, smirking dragonslayer once as she walks past.


	2. Jealousy

_Laxus Dreyar doesn't do jealousy._

He doesn't care what she does.

He's _not_ watching the sway of her hips as she walks past his table, heading for a group of her friends happily clustered at the bar. He's _not_ noticing the way she tosses her head so that her dark curls spill like ink over her bare shoulders, or how she slides her hands over the voluptuous curves of her hips. He's _certainly _not remembering the burning glide of her skin over his minutes before, her ragged gasps and breathless moans, or the way she tightened around him until he thought he would fucking _explode._

He doesn't care what she does.

Really.

But he sees the eyes of the Fairy Tail men as they stray over to the card mage now happily splayed out against the bar. He notices how Macao's gaze hovers over Cana's perfect ass for a little too long, and how Wakaba focuses way too much on Cana's full bosom as she bends over the bar. He _certainly _remembers Bickslow's salacious comments on how he wouldn't mind having the inebriated card mage in his bed, Gray's habit of constantly losing his fucking _clothes _around the girl in question, and damn Loke's all-too-frustrating habit of asking Cana Alberona out on motherfucking _dates_.

He's Laxus Dreyar, for Mavis' sake. Makarov's grandson. Heir apparent of the guild. Lightning Dragonslayer. He doesn't need to chase women, or consider their feelings, or even remember their faces. Women come to him, just like everything else, because of his stupid fucking _name. _Why should he care what they think when they don't even know who he is under his tattoos and scars and don't-fuck-with-me smirk? Cana's just another clueless bitch—albeit, one with violet eyes that flash irresistibly when she's angry, who dances like a motherfucking _stripper _and still looks as innocent as the dawn, who makes him burst into helpless laughter when all he wants to do is spear the rest of the guild with lightning. She's nothing more than a sensual, fiery, captivating diversion.

He's watching the entire male half of the guild watch Cana stretch her hands over her head and arch her back at the bar. She's oblivious, gleefully ordering more alcohol and launching into raptures of excitement over the newest gossip with the barmaid. Fucking siren. She doesn't understand what she does to the entire male population of the guild.

Lightning flickers over his fingers as Macao makes a particularly lewd comment to Wakaba about a better use for Cana's hands. Wakaba snickers and gestures to Cana's ass as she suddenly flops dramatically on top of the bar. Macao's eyes widen with perverted glee and he cranes his neck to get a better look until—

The room _explodes_.

Macao and Wakaba are left twitching on their table, faces blackened, sparks falling from their now-toasted eyebrows. Their drinks steam and bubble in front of them. Smoke rises from the seared guild floor in billowing black clouds.

The room sits, frozen. No one moves. The big doors slam behind Laxus as he stalks out, stormy aura literally flashing with lightning around him. Silence descends again as the doors crash shut.

"Did Laxus just hit… Macao and Wakaba with lightning?" Levy breathes in wonder.

Lucy frowns. "I think so… but why? Nothing happened."

The sound slowly starts to trickle back into the room, and after a few minutes guild business carries on as normal. Natsu and Grey fight in a corner, Erza polishes her armor, and Jet and Droy bother Levy about a mission. Mirajane smiles and looks out at the room, chuckling over the antics of her _nakama, _wiping down a glass.

A certain card mage, sprawled out on top of the bar, keeps up her semi-comatose appearance as she watches the big doors swing loosely on their hinges. Her gaze flits over to where two of her older drinking buddies crumple, shocked and silent, in a pile of smoke and sooty limbs. Small flickers of lightning hum threateningly around the two, hissing and crackling if they even try to get up. Cana bursts into loud laughter on top of the bar. "Mira, another round for everyone!"

_Guess you do jealousy after all, Dreyar._


	3. Vulnerability

_Cana Alberona doesn't do vulnerability._

She swirls the amber liquid in her mug aimlessly, gazing down into the tepid depths. She doesn't want to drink right now, doesn't want to acknowledge any of the stupid _shit _that's freaking her the hell out. It feels like the walls of the dingy, dark bar are closing in on her, and she closes her eyes, resting her clammy forehead against the mug in front of her. She doesn't want to think right now, but her mind just won't fucking shut down.

The S-class exams are back, bringing with them swells of exhaustion and gut-wrenching, sickening nerves. She knows Gildarts will return, crashing through the guild walls with his wide grin and carefree, wandering gaze. She knows it will hurt even more when she realizes she can't tell him her secret because she didn't make S-class… again.

She vaguely registers the sting of alcohol as she tips the strong liquid down her throat. It burns, but not enough to reassure her of why she's still here. She feels like she's drifting, unable to orient herself or turn around, forced to go forward into darkness. The alcohol can't give her focus anymore, either. She laughs brokenly, watching the ends of her hair trail over the dirty bartop, and immerses herself back into her cup in the hopes that maybe, just _maybe,_ this time it'll work and make everything stop.

"—rona! _Cana_!" The low, rough, _familiar _voice thrums in her ear, shaking her from her reverie. Her eyes flick up to meet his, dark under his jagged blonde bangs and hood. His hands are outstretched, like he's been trying to get her attention, and as she gazes hazily at him he gives an irritated groan. "Damn, woman, could you be any more drunk?"

Her tongue feels like lead, even when she sticks it out at him and tells him to "Fuck off, Dreyar. My day's shitty enough without seeing your exiled ass here." She won't let him see her utter shock at his presence, or the shivers slowly rising through her body at his darkened gaze.

The corners of his lips quirk up and his eyes turn hot. "I thought my being here would make you a little bit more… enjoyable."

Her fingers tighten on her mug and she fights down the small gasp she can feel rising in the back of her throat. She will not give in to him, even though her body is _aching _for his touch, months overdue. She can't. But his fingers skim ever so lightly over the skin of her waist, and she bites back a groan because his hands paint trails of fucking _fire _over her skin when he moves. His head hangs down, but he flicks his eyes up to meet hers through his bangs as he bites his lip and trails his fingertips over her guild mark, and she _feels it_.

"Don't you ever wonder what's happening, back at the guild?" She speaks before thinking, desperate to distract him from the havoc his hands are wreaking on her body. She watches shock cross his face, followed by a swift shuttering of all emotion. The planes of his face go hard and still. He yanks his fingers from her skin as if burned.

"_No_." His voice cuts like glass, brittle and flat. He averts his gaze from hers and stares stonily at the wall behind the seedy bar.

_Oh. _She knows him, knows him more intimately than any other guild member, and she recognizes the hurt crushed deep down inside of him. She knows how she would feel if she lost the only family she'd ever allowed herself to have. It's his equivalent of her S-class trials, all darkness and disorientation and panic.

"I got nominated for the S-class exams," she finds herself telling him softly.

His wide shoulders shrug once. "I don't care."

"I'm going to leave the guild if I don't pass this time."

"I told you, I don't—what?" This time, he spins to meet her gaze, eyes widening. He searches her face as if looking for mockery. He doesn't find any, just dull acceptance. "You must be joking."

Her lips curl upwards in a wan smile. "Surprise." She reaches out for her drink, intending to slide back into the endless, easy depths of her mug, but he reaches over and slams a hand over the top. She sighs, exhausted of their games. "Dreyar. Laxus. Stop. I just want my drink."

He ignores her and _looks _at her, really looks, takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the way she's slumped over the bar and the exhaustion sharpening the angles of her face. As if trying to calm a frightened animal, he reaches up to caress the side of her face, so lightly it's like his fingers barely even touch. His fingers skim from her temple to the corner of her mouth, hesitating over her lips before flattening his palm against her cheekbone. "Cana, what's happened?"

And with that, she's _tired _again, exhausted down to the bone, and she doesn't even care about her wounded pride or her anger at him for that fucking Fantasia incident or the gaping hole he left when he was exiled from the guild. She just wants to sleep, because at least her dreams contain a flicker of direction. She knows what she wants to do in her dreams. But the man in front of her is gazing at her like he can't tear his eyes away, face more open than she's ever seen before, and it touches something deep inside, something small and fragile that stirs under his gaze. She laughs a little, giving in to that fucking urge to _feel_. "Gildarts is my father."

He stills. "_What?"_

She ignores him. "I've known ever since I came to the guild. I'd always wait for him to come back from missions, wanting to tell him, just wanting him to _know_. I wasn't sure what would come after that." Her hands wrap around her mug once again and she lets her head sink. "But he's Gildarts. The best of the best. The most powerful mage in Fairy Tail. And I'm just Cana Alberona, the girl who fights with playing cards and drinks too much."

His eyes are locked on her face, dark and serious, and she suddenly feels the weight of what she's telling him crush back down on her. It hurts. "I swore that I wouldn't tell him until I knew I would make him proud. Until I was S-class. And when I was nominated for S-class the first time, I thought everything was going to work out. And when I was nominated for S-class the second time, I thought that it was another chance." She's cold again, brittle and numb. Her turn to be glass. She just hopes she won't shatter into pieces. "I'm done taking chances. If I don't make S-class this time, I'm going to leave the guild."

They sit. She's quiet, fighting against the hopelessness that has driven her to this seedy bar in the mountain village where she's just completed a job. He's frozen beside her. She looks away.

"Hey." His voice is quiet, almost more a low murmur than actual sound.

She shakes her head and tilts the mug up to her lips. It burns a bit more now—she can almost feel the illusion of heat—and she uses the warmth to cast fake energy into her words. "Save it, Dreyar. I'll be fine. I'm a big girl now anyways."

His eyes _flash_, shocking her. In one move, he shakes back his hood and pulls her forward, big hands wrapped around her forearms until she's sprawled against his chest. She knows that he can feel her trembling— she can't decide if the tremors are from exhaustion, fear, or that damn rising _heat_. He's so solid against her, all strong, supple muscle and searing eyes, that for the first time today she knows _exactly _where she is. She can't help clinging to him as if to an anchor. He lowers his head until his eyes bore into hers, and his voice comes out a ragged growl_. _"I spent _every fucking day_ of my childhood wondering why my dad left. I didn't know if it was something I did, or if I could have stopped it. I didn't understand why Gramps wouldn't tell me. And it _ruined _me, Cana."

She can feel him shaking too, fingers curled viselike around her arms, sending deep vibrations into her body. His pupils are huge, surrounded by only the smallest rings of grey. They make him look incredibly young and vulnerable. His face falls suddenly and he tilts his forehead against hers. His voice, when he speaks again, is exhausted. "I made my _nakama _fight each other. I broke my family apart. I left _you. _All because I couldn't understand that Fairy Tail accepts people for who they are, not what they do or what names they carry."

She's tense in his arms, inexplicably terrified of what he might say next. His eyes open again, and he gives her an honest-to-god _smile_, brushing her bangs out of her face. "Don't ever sacrifice your guild because of issues with your family, Cana. I learned that the hard way. Fairy Tail _is _your family. And if Gildarts would ever look at you as his daughter and be anything less than amazed, he'd be a damn fool."

She's frozen with shock. "Laxus—"

He smiles again, and this time it's heartbreakingly tender as he caresses her face once more. "Take care of yourself, Alberona. I'll see you at the S-class exams." And he's up and leaving, and she's shaking and unable to speak, and just as he opens the door to leave she hurls herself from her seat and throws her arms around him. He holds her to him as if unable to let go, and she presses kisses to his mouth because that fragile, broken thing inside her is finally, finally struggling to let go.

They break apart and he stares at her face like a starving man looking at a feast. "I have to go."

Her cheeks are wet. "I know."

He kisses her one last time, an achingly sweet brush of lips against hers, and then he's gone, out into the frosty autumn night. She stands in the door watching the wind blow through the stripped trees and the stars shine coldly down on the forest ahead. Her lips are warm, and she smiles.

She doesn't feel numb anymore.


	4. Fear

_Laxus Dreyar doesn't do fear._

He's always thought that fear is for cowards until he sees Cana, crumpled at the foot of a heap of boulders.

He's at her side before he can even think, barely registers his own horrified cry of her name, skimming his hands over her sides to search for the source of all this damn _blood. _She's dripping with it, dark hair damp with scarlet, skin slick and torn. He can't hear anything over the pounding in his ears or her ragged gasps for breath. He feels like he's screaming inside. His heart is beating as if he's run a marathon at full speed.

She's still, too still as he rolls her onto her back. Everything seems like it's in slow motion as he takes in the vicious crimson slash across her front, stretching from her right hip to the underside of her left breast. Blue and purple bruises cover her entire abdomen. Blood streams from tens of deep cuts across her shoulders and face. She looks like she got hit by a train, he thinks detachedly. Hit by a train and then mauled by a mountain lion.

Her ragged gasp of pain cuts through the fog that clouds his mind. Her eyes flutter open and he just catches sight of a flash of brilliant indigo before they roll back and she loses consciousness. Good. He can only imagine the agony she must be in, and it slices dull and deep in his chest as he realizes she must have been awake the whole time.

His hands are tearing his cloak into long strips, wrapping cloth around her wounds to slow the flowing blood. He has the deep gash on her abdomen bound up tightly, but the fabric is beginning to darken with crimson, and the roaring in his ears is only getting louder the more blood she loses.

She's cradled in his arms before he even realizes he's picked her up, holding her as closely to him as he can without jostling her injuries. She's so slender, so fragile like this, coppery skin streaked with scarlet ribbons, body bruised and broken. He wants to cry out in pain with her, to find whoever did this to her and _eradicate _them, but she stirs and groans weakly and its all he can do to shift into lightning and race for Porlyusica's cottage with Cana clutched to his chest.

He bursts into the healer's house, nearly taking off the doorframe with his lightning. She stalks out to glare at him with a furious, slitted gaze until she sees the broken girl cradled in his arms. Her eyes widen and she _blurs_ into action, faster than he's ever seen her, directing him to lie Cana down on the table and prepare hot water and towels and bandages and he can't hear anything other than the pounding of his blood and the roaring in his ears and, "Get out, brat, I can't work with you here," and—

She's in surgery now. He knows the hag is doing everything she can, knows that she would never try anything less than her best with any of Makarov's children, but the sheer several feet separating him from Cana are terrifying. Her blood fills his vision, scarlet seeping into her torn top and waistband and pooling in the hollows of her collarbones, a lone drop making its crimson way down the side of her cheek from the corner of her mouth. Everything looks like it's shaking apart around him, a rolling tremor that's making his vision go fuzzy at the edges, but he knows that he's the one trembling.

_Cana. Please be okay. _He sits on the floor outside of the healer's room, back against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest. His head hangs down, clutched between his bloodstained hands. _Cana, Cana, Cana. _He doesn't know what he'll do if the hag can't help her. He wonders vaguely if the searing feeling in his chest is his own lightning, caged by his panic, beating and beating against his ribs until he can let it out in one massive explosion. Maybe it will take him out with it. Her violet eyes flash through his mind, glassy with pain, and he buries his head in his arms. _Cana._

He doesn't know how long it's been—minutes, hours, days—until the door creaks open and Porlyusica looks out into the hall. Her eyes lock on his, gazing huge and dark at her from the floor. "She's alive," she tells him roughly. "I've notified the guild. She took a lot of damage, but I've stabilized her now, and with Wendy's healing, she should make a full recovery."

He somehow makes it to his feet and past the healer into the other room before she can say _No,_ because he needs to make sure Cana's fine himself. She's lying on her back on the bed, covered in sterile white bandages and gauze. He frowns at the pile of bangles on the dresser nearby, then realizes Porlyusica must have removed her jewelry. _Cana'll freak out when she sees that; she hates it when people take off her stuff. _He smiles weakly at the thought, then goes to sit next to the girl on the bed. He brushes her hair, now clean of blood, from her still face, and traces her closed eyes, her nose, her lips, with the pad of his finger. Alive. Going to recover.

It hits him all at once and he almost chokes as he realizes how close he came to losing her. He touches his lips to the back of her hand, presses it close to his chest and holds it over his heartbeat, willing his strength to her. He won't accept anything less than a full recovery. He tells her so out loud.

"So… stubborn… Sparky." The suddenness of her voice, rough with painkillers, nearly scares the hell out of him. The corners of her mouth quirk up as she watches him with glazed, foggy eyes. "What… happened?"

He knows she's just fading in and out of consciousness, knows she's just rising briefly out of a drugged sleep, but can't help leaning in to catch her mouth with his, savoring her taste and feel. She responds against him, gasping as her movement jostles some wound, and he leaps back, terrified he'll hurt her more.

She regards him with a misty, thick-lashed gaze, and he suddenly feels very vulnerable in this white, sterile room. "It… hurts…" She's putting the pieces together in her head, he can see it, but she's fading quickly back into her drugged rest. She makes one more effort, turning her head to lock eyes with him. "You… saved… me…"

He bows his head over their clasped hands next to her, gritting his teeth against tears as she sinks back into unconsciousness. "No. You saved me."

He gathers his cloak around him, stands up to leave, before the healer is there, watching him with piercing eyes. He ignores her until he's about to leave the building, then turns to her, stone-faced. "Hag."

She raises an eyebrow. "Brat."

He forces down a snarl, wraps himself in his cloak and remembers the damaged body of the girl he's about to leave behind. "Thank you. For helping her."

The healer's eyes widen imperceptibly. She sniffs, turns away from the man as he holds open the door. "I'll make sure she recovers."

Laxus bows his head slightly and steps outside. For a moment, he takes in the sight of the familiar Magnolia forest, the faint echo of loud chatter and smell of smoke from his guild, then pulls up the hood of his cloak and strides off to find whatever monster hurt Cana and _end it_.

Porlyusica smiles faintly to herself as she watches her brash, arrogant, powerful grandson make his way away from her cottage, away from the unconscious girl he loves. _He doesn't know yet, does he? That he can't live without her…_

Far away, Laxus forces himself to keep walking, refusing to go back and cradle her, a broken girl, to him, a broken man. With a contemptuous growl, he ignores the sobering realization that the only time he has ever felt fear has been at her side.

Laxus Dreyar doesn't do fear, and that's why he leaves her. Because leaving has been the only way he's ever known people to never feel fear, to remain strong. Fear is for cowards. But the farther and farther he walks away, the more piercing the memory of her misty, orchid eyes becomes.


	5. Gentleness

_Cana Alberona doesn't do gentleness._

Laxus is back, and the guild is alive.

That seems to be the motto of the evening, she muses, happily nursing a mug of beer in her hands. She watches him get dogpiled by the Raijinshuu as they celebrate his return with a drinking contest. He looks furious and threatens to blast them off with lightning, but she catches the corners of his mouth quirking in an embarrassed smile at his friends' antics. She snickers under her breath. _Big softie._

"Laxus! Fight meeeeeee!" Natsu carols as he launches himself at the blonde from across the room. Laxus doesn't even answer, just reaches for his drink and ignores the hotheaded dragonslayer as Gray intercepts his flight and they fall to the floor in a tumble of kicks and curses.

Mira is serving up mugs to Macao and Wakaba at the bar. Makarov sits on the bartop, proudly watching Laxus drink with the Raijinshuu. Erza threatens Natsu and Gray with bodily pain if they continue to break the guild. Lucy and Levy play with Asuka in the middle of the room, giggling at the tiny gunslinger's spurs and cowboy hat. Gajeel tries not to ogle Levy from the bar and fails miserably. Happy is unsuccessfully wooing Charle with presents of fish and booze.

_ Sounds just like normal._

It's odd, coming back after seven years. After the ruckus with Twilight Ogre died down and everyone can relax, things are just _different. _Her _nakama _have grown up while the Tenrou group was away. Bisca and Alzack are married with a kid. Romeo is a fighting mage now; his father has silvered hair and acts as the temporary Master.She vaguely wonders if he and Wakaba have reduced their excessive drinking, then chuckles as she sees Mira hand them double mugs of amber beer. Some things never change, apparently.

She slips away from her table, leaving behind the light and clatter of the guild in favor of the quiet back rooms. Everything's a little too loud for her right now. She wants some time to take in the changes, around her and within her. She finds a nice still corner, scoots down to sit on the floor with her shoulders against the wall, and leans her head back. There. Much quieter.

She… has a father now. That's the oddest change of all. Gildarts hasn't left her side all day, except to go drink with his guildmates in the ongoing celebration. She smiles now, remembering how excited he was to be able to walk back into the guild with her. Maybe having a father will be easy and effortless, just like having a mother was.

Footsteps surprise her from behind and she immediately leaps into a fighting stance, cursing her inattention and the fact that nothing is easy or effortless in her world. She's experienced too much destruction over the last few days to remain calm. "If you want a battle, you've picked the wrong girl." Her cards thrum around her threateningly, sparking slightly.

Blue-grey eyes widen in shock and he holds his hands out in front of him. "Whoa! Hey, no. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I saw you leave."

_Laxus. _She laughs lightly, drops her cards back to her bag, scoots back to her seat against the wall. "I was feeling a little overwhelmed, Sparky. Things have changed so much."

He joins her, his bulkier frame taking up more space in the small alcove. So much seems to alarm her these days— it surprises her when his closeness doesn't. He heaves a sigh and drops his head into his hands. "It's overwhelming for me too."

She feels a jolt of sudden sympathy. No matter how much has changed for her, so much more has happened for him. Exile, the events of Tenroujima, the battle with Grimoire Heart, and now his return to the guild—his world has shifted much more than hers. She can't even imagine how he feels.

"Like the ground's moving under me," he murmurs suddenly. When she shoots him a confused glance, he smirks. "You said it out loud."

_Oh. _"Guess I'm still a little crazy," she replies lightly, nudging his shoulder with hers in spontaneous companionship. His words sink in and she frowns. "Why moving under you?"

He flicks his eyes to her face, a quick, searching stare. "Everything's changed for me. From Fantasia to Tenrou to this." He blinks slowly. "I don't know where to go from here, though. I've changed too."

"What do you mean?" she whispers, suddenly afraid of his answer.

His eyes are more exhausted than she's ever seen when he meets hers this time, but his gaze is steady and clear. "I'm not the man I was when I left. I don't _want _to be that man." He closes his eyes and rests his head on his palm. "But I don't know who or what I'm supposed to be now, in this new world."

She doesn't think, just reaches out and catches his cheek with her fingertips. His eyes fly open in shock, pupils blown wide and dark and _vulnerable,_ and she brushes her lips against his before he can say anything, quickly pulling back to look at him. "You're _you, _Laxus. That's who the guild wants you to be. A cranky, antisocial, antagonistic, arrogant, lightning-happy _baka _dragonslayer."

He laughs quickly, helplessly. "He doesn't sound that great."

"He does to me," she murmurs softly, searching his face. His eyes fly open and he gazes at her, almost astounded. She flattens her palm to his cheek and caresses the side of his face. "You'll figure out who you want to be and what you want to do again, Laxus."

His lips curve, just the tiniest bit, bringing back her memories of his old smirk. "Sure it's not just _who_ I want to do, Alberona?"

She rolls her eyes at this stupid, stubborn, cocky, damaged, _captivating _man. A small grin makes its way over her lips as she winks at him. "Maybe that too, who knows?"

He bows his head and smiles quietly. They stay there, quiet, for a moment, then she heaves herself to her feet with a groan and stretches, feeling the knots in her shoulders pop and crack. "I've been gone a while. People will start to ask questions."

This time, he grins at her fully, a dark, cocky grin, and it shocks her into openmouthed silence. "Alberona, no matter where you go, people start to ask questions."

"Fuck off, Pikachu," she shoots back, infinitely glad that they're back in normal territory, exchanging insults and innuendoes. He rolls to his feet next to her, a fluid, leonine movement that instantly sends jealously seeping through her. He just makes moving look so _pretty,_ dammit!

"You coming?" he calls back. She hasn't noticed his walking past her, standing at the entrance back into the main room. The light streams from the guild, outlining his large silhouette with a ring of gold. He looks like he glows, just for a moment, then the light's gone and it's just him again. Laxus.

"Yeah, I'm coming," she whispers, walking towards him. Just before they move into the vision of the main room, she pulls him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Dreyar?"

"Hmm?" He turns to her, eyebrows raised. His eyes widen as she stretches up on her tiptoes and brushes a sweet, airy kiss over his mouth, then drops back down to her normal height.

She grins at him and brushes back his shaggy blonde bangs. "Welcome back." And she leaves him behind in the entrance as he stands, frozen in the door, raising a hand to his mouth. She makes her way back to her comfortable seat at her table and two seven-years-older buddies. They have a lot of drinking to make up.

"Laxus! Drinking contest! Come join in!" Gildarts booms from the bar. Cana watches the spiky-haired blonde slowly make his way back into the room, making sure to drop a roguish wink in his direction as he comes up to her father. His cheeks tint pink before he pointedly turns to Mira and demands alcohol.

_He's adorable. _She can't wait to see how this drinking contest ends. Relaxing into her chair, she leans back, surrounded by her _nakama, _clasps her mug to her chest, and settles in to enjoy the show.

_It's nice to be back._


	6. Regret

_Laxus Dreyar doesn't do regret._

He doesn't know how he got here, sitting on the ground facing her apartment, watching the rain stream down the tree trunks around him. Oh, wait—yes, he does. He's here because he's a fucking _idiot _and pushed away the best thing that ever fucking _happened_ to him_._

"Cana…" He groans. "I don't _get _you_._" _I never meant any of it. I just couldn't understand why you'd ever want to be with me, after everything I've told you._ He growls, clenching his eyes shut and fisting his hands in his hair. _Stupid, stubborn woman…_

He just wants her to be careful around the city after Ivan's threats. He knows his dad's habits, understands Ivan's twisted mind, doesn't want Cana to get hurt in the inevitable bloody crossfire. He remembers her wide violet eyes glassy and blank that day he rescued her in the woods, sees again the streaming scarlet and hears her ragged gasps of pain. _No_. He is _not_ going to risk her safety in his father's stupid pissing match. _No matter what._

She didn't take it that well, of course. He'd tried to explain, but she'd overridden his arguments with a toss of her dark mane and an "I can take care of myself, Dreyar. Don't worry about me. I'm a Fairy Tail mage." He'd wanted to shout at her, shake her, say that he could take care of himself and Ivan still had hurt _him, _but he knew that she, stubborn bitch she was, wouldn't listen. She was too immersed in the games, too involved in the hardships of her _nakama _in the arena to think about the bigger picture. To think about herself.

He buries his face in his hands as he remembers how she'd screamed at him to get out. He didn't mean to lash out at her with his words, didn't mean to say the things he did, but, sweet Mavis, this woman brings out a side of him he didn't think he still had. It stings to know that it's still there, boiling like lightning—heh—under his skin.

The rain's coming down harder now, and he's numb. He doesn't notice the rivulets running down his face except to blink water from his eyelashes. Thunder crashes around him, the sky illuminated with blank white light in a cacophonous second, and he turns his face up to the clouds, letting the storm pound against his skin. Better this tempest than the memories of her eyes, hurt flashing through them as he flung careless, painful words at her across her apartment. _Weak. Easy. Alcoholic. Daddy issues._

He wants to have her in his arms and feel her slender, lithe frame against his, wants to pull her close and tell her that _I never meant anything I said, I was just hurting and desperate and I'm so _sorry_—_

He doesn't deserve to hold her. She's so much better than he is, a fiery, violet-eyed siren to his wounded, humbled dragon. She gleams with life and spirit, burns brighter than the sun, and he is, as always, a moth to her flame. He can't stay away—he knows, he's tried. But all he ends up doing is hurting her. Just like he does everyone else around him. Just like he did his _nakama _in the first place_._

But he won't give up now. He sits outside of her apartment, watching soft light glow from her windows, faintly smelling her honeyed-wine-and-summer scent through the rain. He'll wait for her, because she's waited for him. And if she doesn't want him anymore, he will leave and he will bleed inside and go back to his _nakama_ and pretend nothing is wrong, even though he'll be broken. Again.

_Please don't let me break again, Cana._

Her door opens, spilling light into the street around him. He blearily watches the light refract off the puddles, turning the surrounding downpour into a shower of gold. She stands in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked to the side. He shifts his eyes up to her and can't tear them away, gazing at her like he'll never see her again. She's beautiful through the rain, dressed only in one of his old button down shirts. Light flickers over the smooth planes of her bare legs. He swallows, mouth dry. _Fuck._

She speaks first. Her eyes are cold amethyst. "Well?"

He looks up at her. Rain streaks his cheeks with water. "Cana… I'm _sorry."_

She tosses that magnificent hair back over her shoulders. She looks like a fucking princess, so regal and haughty. "So?"

He grits his teeth, fighting down an impulse to flee. No. He won't let her go. Not like this. "I'm _sorry. _I didn't mean to say those things. I just…" and he chokes, he fucking _chokes._ He growls in irritation. "God, Cana, I don't want you near my psychopath of a father! He'll _hurt _you!"

"I've already been fucking hurt!" she yells back. "I've been hurt a _lot, _and I've fought through it!"

"Not like this!" he snarls. "He will hurt you to get to me, and_ it will end me."_

She freezes. "What are you fucking saying, Dreyar?"

He shatters. "Dammit, Cana! I can't live without you—!" His voice rings off the stones around him, echoes through the trees and the whispering rain. He winces at the raw pain he hears in his voice— it makes him sound fucking _weak_, he _hates_ it— but it hangs in the air between them anyways. "I _can't._" He lets his head fall back down, unable to meet her gaze after his outburst.

Silence. The rain patters around them. It's softening now, more a spring shower than a thunderstorm. The night air is balmy and rich with the scent of rain and fresh soil. Far away, an owl calls to its mate.

Her footsteps don't make any noise as she descends her stairs towards him—she's barefoot, he notices detachedly. It makes her look oddly younger. A cool hand reaches out and skims under his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. She stands in front of him, hand outstretched like that, for a long time. He swallows and matches her stare. All at once, it comes crashing back on him—their fight, his emotions, his memories of his father and his anger at his father and his fear of his father and it _cuts _him deep inside—and he just whispers, gazing up at her from his seat, one last time, "I'm _sorry."_

He sees the stone in her eyes shatter, and then she's cradling him close to her chest, and his arms are around her waist and his head is buried in her stomach and he can breathe again. She's leaning over him, letting her hair fall around him in a sweet-smelling waterfall, and the rawness of the moment just slices him apart inside. She's murmuring to him, too, _I'm sorry _and _it's okay_ and I_ won't let him hurt us. _And he doesn't have the strength to do anything other than listen to her strong heartbeat and savor her presence and let the relief shake his body until he's quiet and still against her.

She doesn't let him go, just clings as tightly to him as he does to her. Without looking, he knows that her face is as wet with tears as his. He pulls back a little bit to gaze at her, to brush her rain-soaked hair from her face, but she just gives a little shake and clutches herself desperately to him again— "I won't let you go, I won't"— and he realizes that while he was outside in the rain thinking about her, she was inside having the same struggle.

_Please don't leave me like he did, Cana. _

The rain has soaked through her clothes and his by now. He's absolutely drenched, dripping wet, rivers of water flowing down his jaw to pool in the hollows of his collarbone. She's not much better off— her hair is glossy with rain, beaded with droplets and straggling over her shoulders and back. Her skin slides slick against his when she tugs him up to kiss him fully. He wraps his arms around her, holding her as carefully as if she were indigo glass and could break at any wrong move. She nuzzles her head against his jaw, presses gentle kisses to the dip of his throat and his shoulders, slips her arms up under his sodden shirt to rest hot against the small of his back. He kisses her slowly, again and again, achingly soft. She's trembling faintly in his arms, twining her arms around his neck, stretching up on her tiptoes to better reach his mouth. She deepens the kiss and he gasps, shocked at the sudden rush of seeping heat through his body as she arches against him. He _wants _her, and the sensation is stingingly sweet. He knows she wants him too, her body pliant and willing, her fingers wrapped into his hair as she tugs him closer. She traces kisses down his neck, along the ridge of his collarbone, then opens her mouth and _nips_, just a small flash of even white teeth, and he falls a little bit in love with her right there.

He knows the moment has to end—they have battles to fight the next day, places to go, people to see. He still has to make sure his bastard father isn't planning anything horrible against his _nakama. _But as he holds Cana tighter against him, savoring her sweet smell and warm lips, all he wants is to freeze time and never restart it.

They stand there, embracing, reassuring themselves of the others' presence, until the only sign left of the rain is the telltale shine on the leaves of the trees, and the still of the night beckons him off once more. He walks her up to her door, flicks her on the forehead and tells her, "Don't be stupid tomorrow, Alberona," watching her make her way inside. As he leaves, he sees her slip aside her curtain and glance at him. He wonders if he should tell her that the halo of interior light makes her look like an angel.

Nah. She'd probably punch and mock him for being a closet romantic.

_For you, Cana Alberona… _He laughs at the thought, making his way through the watery streets, in and out of the pools of light cast by streetlamps. _Anything._

_Always._


	7. Sobriety

_Cana Alberona does not do sobriety._

_ Flash. One, two. Flash. One, two. _

Her eyes are fixed on the monitor lacrima floating next to his bed. It pulses red with every one of his heartbeats, a visual metronome. She wonders why the makers made it red; it just looks like it's bleeding out. A dark chuckle rips its way from her throat as she numbly entertains the possibility of its being red because it has her entire body in a vice grip. It's his heart she's watching, after all.

It's already flatlined twice.

His face is slack and still in unconsciousness, swathed in gauzy white. There's a cloudy green drug dripping into a shunt on his right wrist, pinned between his starkly bandaged hand and the blooming black bruises on his forearm. She wonders numbly if he can feel it. She remembers he hates needles, fights down a surge of nausea at the fleeting thought that he's aware of his surroundings but trapped in this state.

The monitor lacrima flickers unevenly, then resumes its normal trodding beat. She wants to kick it into pieces across the room, destroy it and burn it with her bare hands. Maybe throw in her card magic for good measure. She doesn't.

She knows the other guild members are trickling into the room from time to time, some staying minutes, others only moments. They all whisper some sort of condolence to her, but she doesn't listen. They don't have anything to say that she wants to hear.

Makarov was in first, she recalls numbly. He'd stayed when the Raijinshuu first brought Laxus in, unconscious and covered in blood. Broken. He hadn't even been able to stand on his own two feet, slumped unsteadily over Bickslow's and Fried's shoulders. They'd all been battered and beaten, Ever wavering unsteadily behind them, crimson liquid streaming over Fried's face, Bickslow struggling with a torn leg and cracked wrist. They'd collapsed when they'd pushed through the guild entrance, unable to go any further. She remembers looking on in shock, then horror, at their conditions. She'd known instantly that if the Raijinshuu couldn't even stand, Laxus wouldn't be standing either. _Stupid man. So stubborn. _So brave, so arrogant, so strong in his determination to never again let his _nakama _get hurt. _Idiot. _

She blinks as if through a fog at the flash of the red lacrima. _Flash. One, two. Flash. One, two. _His heart is struggling to keep going. Just like she will be if it stops. _Flash. One, two. _

Makarov is back, pushing aside the door to move to his grandson's side. He brushes aside the dragonslayer's spiky blonde bangs, gazes at his bruised face. Makarov looks older than he ever has before, she thinks, as he watches his grandson struggle to survive.

"Cana." His voice is flat. At first she doesn't even recognize the sound of her name; it sounds so small in all this empty white space.

She raises her head from her arms, staring up at the man from the chair in which she's curled. Her back groans and pops—she can't even remember the last time she stretched. Her voice is hoarse and ragged from tears and disuse. "Yes, Master?"

"You've been here for three days, child," he mutters. His voice is hoarse as well. She doesn't want to acknowledge his pain; it'll make everything seem more real. If it's only her screaming inside her head, things can still change. If Makarov's grieving this much too, then—

She forces her mind to screech to a halt. She doesn't want to think. Thinking hurts. "It's fine."

He looks at her and she squirms, feeling suspiciously like an ant under a microscope. He frowns. "You haven't been drinking." It's not a question.

Despite everything, she laughs, fully _laughs_, at the absurdity of the statement. The laugh pulls painfully at something deep inside of her and she stops, quickly, before it cuts deeper. "I've been a little busy."

He chuckles. It sounds like it rips at him too. "I can imagine." He turns back to Laxus' still body. His voice is calm now, almost casual. "He wanted to come back sooner."

She chokes, forcing her body to remain quiet. "He… did?"

Makarov glances at her one last time. He smiles, a tiny little quirking of his lips. It makes her want to cry. "Yeah. Never has before though. Always off on the job." He turns away. "I think he was happy there was something—someone— here to bring him back."

She's bewildered by how sudden the pain comes at his words.It feels like something splits her right down the middle, an empty, stinging _ache _of grief that has her pulling her knees up to her chest and gritting her teeth against burning tears. _Laxus. _She feels Makarov's hand brush lightly against her hair, offering her a small support. She ignores it, focusing on swallowing down the rising sobs. She doesn't have time to break down.

"He's going to be fine," Makarov says, and she clings to his words like a security blanket, wrapping herself in their comfort, nodding furiously. _I know. He's okay. He won't leave me. He promised me. I promised him I wouldn't let him go. _

Makarov leaves. She's alone, huddled by Laxus' bedside, watching him with soft, exhausted eyes. "Just you and me, _baka. _Waiting for you to wake up." She laughs helplessly. "Maybe you'd like to hurry it up a bit, huh?"

She lets her fingers trace over the edge of his poor, bruised face. So calm. She's not sure if she's ever seen her arrogant, powerful dragon this still. Even when he sleeps normally, he moves unconsciously, flinging a heavy arm over her to pull her closer or twitching with dreams. His quiet makes him seem like he's been frozen in time. A sob surprises her, catching in her throat with a rasp. She fights it back, shoves down the rising pressure, but feels the telltale sting of hot tears burning in her eyes anyway. She glances again at his still form again, and the sight of his drawn face breaks down the last of her defenses and she lets her sobs go. Tears stream unchecked down her face as she looks at the man she loves, more physically vulnerable than she ever thought she'd witness. She _hates_ it.

"Don't leave me, you idiot," she whispers, wiping away wetness from her cheeks. "You _promised…" _She slumps forward, pressing her forehead to his chest above his bandages, letting her sobs rip through her. "_Stay with me."_

He _gasps_, a ragged, sudden intake of breath beneath her, and she lurches back, frantically snatching her hands away as his eyes fly open and fix desperately on hers. "Cana—?" He cuts off, coughing weakly. Frothy blood trails from the corner of his mouth as he groans in pain. "It _hurts_—"

She's up before she can think, calling, screaming for Porlyusica. Laxus is _awake _and the healer's striding into the room and pushing her away from the bed and all she can see is that he's _alive._

"Cana—where'd you go—?" she hears him choke out, tone panicked.

She shoves her way past the hovering healer to sit beside him on the bed. "Here, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." She strokes his face soothingly.

His eyes flit around desperately, hazy and fever bright, fixing on her face. "Will you stay?"

She's leaning down, pressing her forehead to his. "Always."

"Okay." His eyes slip shut as he sinks back into unconsciousness—a healing sleep this time instead of the dangerous coma from before.

"Stupid dragon," she whispers. _I can't live without you either. _


	8. Longing

**Author's Note: This is a LEMON, rated M (contains explicit sexual material)! If you do not wish to read this content, skip ahead to chapter 9.**

_Laxus Dreyar does not do longing._

She's coming back today.

It feels like he's drunk a gallon of coffee, all jittery and filled with nervous energy. His lightning crackles all around him with a low hum, just barely visible over his skin and between his fingers. Macao and Wakaba are edging carefully past his table, he notices vaguely with a snort of amusement, and most of the guild seems to be avoiding him. Even his idiot friends know enough to not get between him and the object of his focus.

She's coming back today, and damn it all, if he isn't waiting with bated breath and hot, darkened eyes.

He narrows his eyes at the door. Why won't the damn thing open? Why isn't she back yet? Is she okay? Maybe something attacked her on the way back, maybe she broke her ankle or lost her cards or—

There's a hand on his shoulder. "Laxus, fight—"

Without a glance, he backhands Natsu through the guild wall. Erza shoots him a disapproving look; he flips her off and goes back to boring a hole through the door with his eyes.

She's coming back today, and he hasn't seen her, or held her, or even touched her in six weeks.

His dreams are bad enough. Images of silken skin sliding against his, voluptuous body arching under his touch, heavy-lashed indigo eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy haunt his nights, driving him awake, hot and gasping. In his dreams, she's taunting, captivating, as much a temptress as in reality. He's had to add a daily cold shower to his morning routine, much to his displeasure.

Damn woman. Doesn't she know she's driving him fucking _insane_? The way she tosses that hair and licks those lips—

"Shit." Laxus buries his head in his hands. He's never stayed with a woman long enough to _want _her like this. In the past, whenever he felt the need, he'd go find some sparkly-eyed fangirl. Now, he's forced to long for the card mage. He's trapped underneath brilliant memories of her smile and shatteringly hot dreams of their more _explorative_ pursuits. And his body isn't resisting— not one bit.

The sound of the doors slamming open has his entire body jolting up, and— there she is. Her hair's grown, he notices first, spilling in vibrant brunette curls down to the small of her back. It looks good. She holds her feathered purse by her side, and, hand propped on her hip, surveys the room from the doorway with the same confident smirk. Cries of "Cana's back!" and "Cana-chan!" echo around the room as the guild welcomes her back into its midst.

He's stiff with restraint, keeping himself from running to her and pulling her mouth to his. She's surrounded by her insane friends, all chattering at her and tugging at her and _touching _her, and it's all he can do to not electrify the room. Her eyes are just as stunning as before, her laugh just as husky and seductive, her throat still smooth and slim— he doesn't dare let his eyes drop below there. He can feel the dragon coiling reluctantly within, scraping away at his restraint. Lightning flickers around him faster as he waits.

She's standing in front of him now, and he can barely believe it's happening. "I'm back." She speaks first. Her eyes are flashing deep indigo, daring him to make the first move.

"I know." He growls, tone rumbling deep in his chest. He fists his hands, straining against his dragon. Lightning hums around them, snapping from his fingertips in showers of brilliant sparks.

He doesn't know which one of them moves first. He just knows that, at first, he's staring at Cana, and now she's pressed against him and kissing him as fiercely as he's kissing her, and it's like he's holding a handful of the sun, she's so hot. She smells sweet and heady, like honeyed wine and summer. Her hands twine into his hair, tugging him down to meet her, and he groans as she deliberately brushes up against him. His hands slide around her waist, tugging her flush against him, both of them gasping as they feel how needy the other has become.

A throat clears behind them, and they leap apart. Cana's panting raggedly, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy and dazed, and he can't help but gaze at her as if she's a goddess. She meets his eyes and the heat flares again. She sinks her teeth into her scarlet lower lip, and he watches, enthralled, as her tongue sweeps slowly along the smooth plumpness, soothing the bite.

Lucy's embarrassed squeak finally breaks them out of their stupor, reminding them that they're in the literal center of the guild, with every single pair of eyes locked upon them. Reactions vary: Levy blushes chartreuse, shooting a glance at Gajeel, Macao and Wakaba look shell-shocked and horrified, Makarov covers his eyes, rocking back and forth on the bar top. Erza appears to have collapsed from shock. Mirajane's grinning evilly with Bisca, gesturing at the central couple. He couldn't care less. All of his attention centers on the curvy brunette standing in front of him.

Cana's eyes don't leave his. She stretches, purposefully arching up, gathering up her curls and baring her neck to his fascinated gaze, before letting her hair tumble back down around her. _Damn, girl. _His mouth goes dry. She drops one thick-lashed eyelid in a voluptuous wink, grinning up at him. "Wanna get out of here?"

He smirks back, suddenly feeling all the heat of _six weeks _welling up inside. "Hell yeah, I do."

Before he knows it, she's kissing him again, and it's pure heaven. He loves her hands in his hair, her soft curves crushed against his hardness, the ragged gasp caught in her throat when he pulls her harder against him. He gathers his lightning around them, blanketing them inside a cocoon of sparks and light, and focuses on moving them to his apartment. He barely catches Lucy's disbelieving question, "Did that really just happen?" before they're crashing into the interior wall of his apartment and she's hot in his arms and her lips are on his throat and, _ah—_

He spins them around, pinning her back against the wall, restraining her hands with one of his above her head. "I've missed you," he growls in her ear, pressing himself fully against her. She gasps, arching up to meet his body with hers.

"I'm here n—" Her words break off into a keen as he dips his head into the curve of her shoulder, tracing hot kisses over her skin with his lips and tongue. He nips at her collarbone, trails upwards to her jawline, making her shudder and gasp. "I—ah!" Her voice, throaty and ragged, sends heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. She strains against him, fighting against his hold, kissing him back with abandon. He loves it.

She twists, somehow dislodging his grip on her hands until she can reverse their positions and push him back against the wall. With her snapping eyes and coiling, vibrant hair, she looks like a siren, ready to cast her spell over some poor, unsuspecting sailor. Her hands push up under his shirt until it pools on the floor underneath them. She skims over the hard planes of his chest, laps at his collarbones and throat, and, _shit_, she knows just where to touch to set him off.

She twines her hands into his hair, teasing, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat until he huffs in irritation, "Woman, either kiss me fully, or—"

She obliges. Her kisses are steamy and seductive, sending heat searing through his entire body. He can feel himself, hard and aching against her stomach, and he knows she can, too. He's trying to let her take the lead, but six weeksis a long time, and she tastes _delicious. _When she takes his lower lip between hers and _tugs_, he growls and pulls her harder against him, molding her figure to his. His hands slide up her sides and around her back, skillfully undoing the scrap of fabric she calls a top. Her breasts—oh, _Mavis—_ fill his hands, and she arches her back and _moans _when he skims them with his fingers.

"God, Laxus—" she gasps, and he grins darkly, bending to scatter hot, needy kisses over the top of her chest. Her skin tastes like honey, he thinks, as her hands clutch at his hair and her head drops back, eyes squeezed closed, mouth open in a hitched breath. She bites back a groan when his hand flicks over her areola, and he does it again, and again until she can no longer restrain her sounds.

She hates it when she's loud; he savors it. He tests her restraint, flicking his fingers over the sensitive tips of her breasts, squeezing and caressing the sides. She moans, quickly muffling the sound with the back of her hand. "Laxus—!"

His lips replace his fingers, and she cries out, jerking against him. He smirks, sucking hard at her heated flesh, wrapping his hands around her back to bring her closer to his hungry mouth. She tosses her head helplessly, hands clenching in his hair, and he smirks. Dropping to his knees, he tugs her capris and underwear down her slender legs, pressing kisses up her toned thighs until—

"_L—ah_!" Cana buckles forward, clutching desperately at his shoulders as he laps at her. He's surrounded by her musky scent, licking circles around her clit and plunging his tongue into her. She's shaking, breath hitching above him, knees weak and eyes clenched shut. He smirks and delves deeper. She digs her nails into his shoulders— the quick pain sends a white-hot flash of heat through his body. He knows she can't hold back once he's driven her to this point. "Laxus—I—ah—!"

She strains against him. He holds her hips still, thrusting his tongue deeper, pulling back to trace teasing flicks over her clit and the tops of her thighs. She throws her head back, fisting her hands in his hair.

"Feel it yet, Thunder?" he smirks, sliding a single finger inside her and continuing to lave her clit with his tongue. He feels her nod, hears her choked cry as another slim digit finds its way inside.

She's so tight, so burning hot that when she comes, it's like his fingers are buried in a fucking _inferno. _She bursts apart with a muffled moan, soaking his fingers, tossing her head back against the wall and clenching her teeth against a cry. He feels a burst of masculine pride as her knees give out and she crumples into his arms on the floor, panting. He kneels there, hearing her heart race and watching her lips quiver as she tries to breathlessly form words.

"Cana?" He can't wait, can barely feel his cock, it's so hard, but still manages to catch his breath to ask. Ask, hell—he'll beg on his hands and knees if he has to, he longs for her so badly. She's breathing heavily, still trembling against him, so pliable and feminine in that moment it makes him want to ravish her all over again. But she meets his gaze confidently with hers, and her eyes crackle with indigo fire, and her lips quirk in a sensual, feline grin as she runs a palm very deliberately down his front and down to the strain in his pants.

"Want a turn, Sparky?"

And she pushes his chest, _hard. _He stumbles, hits the bed, falls down onto his back on the blankets. She comes down right on top of him, a supple, voluptuous shadow pressing right into his need in a torturous, ecstatic glide. Her hips grind into his, eliciting a choked groan, and she presses her lips under his jawbone and _licks. _He bucks underneath her, spanning her slender waist with his hands to pull her more firmly to him. He feels like he's drowning in her scent, her buttery skin, her throaty chuckle as she slides her hands under his waistband and skims his abs with her fingertips. He arches up against her, grabbing at her forearms to make her stop her sensual teasing, but she lowers herself like a cat and rubs herself against his front. He can't do anything but succumb to the fire spreading through his body at her touch. He's powerless under her hands, and she knows it.

His pants are off and on the floor, and she's straddling him suddenly. As if in a dream, he watches her hips flex, scans the entire length of her toned, coppery torso and beautiful, rose-tipped breasts, watches her tumble of inky dark curls cascade around her. To him, she's a fucking goddess, and he's her faithful worshipper.

She grins— "All yours, Dreyar"— and drops herself onto him. He's sheathed inside her in one smooth movement,and_ sweet dear Mavis oh god fuckmethisishappening_ it feels like coming home. She's hot and vise-tight and he's fucking dying of ecstasy, just being inside her again. She's bowed over him, shoulders tense, shudders running up her torso as she adjusts to his size, and through his haze he feels a rush of pride envelop him, that he can reduce Cana Alberona to this.

He slowly rolls his hips against hers, and she chokes on a breath, letting it out in a rushed gasp. "Laxus—shit— do that again!"

The heat from his core is burning him up. He pulls her firmly against his chest, flips them over so he's positioned on top of her, and _thrusts_, hard. She cries out, legs snaking around his waist, hands clenching behind his shoulder blades. He grins, catching the soft skin of her throat between his lips, and _sucks. _He knows she'll be marked in the morning, and the thought sends a stream of lightning through his body.

She jerks against him impatiently, and without further ado, he catches their bodies together in a slow, searing grind. Hard deliberate thrusts elicit high-pitched gasps; long sensual rolls of his hips against hers gift his ears with her ragged moans. She's arching against him, clinging to his wide shoulders, letting her hips meld with his as he keeps up his punishing pace.

He feels it swelling in him like a thunderstorm; lightning crackles over his skin as he gets closer and closer. Her hair sparks with static, a hundred fiery stars glowing amidst the tumbles of dark chocolate brown. She flips them over suddenly with a massive flex of her body, riding him hard, and all he can do is watch her helplessly. She's majestic, body supple and strong, skin slick with sweat and smooth as copper, hair roiling around her like a wild horse's mane. Her body goes rigid, head falling back, fingers curling into claws on his chest as her climax hits. She cries out, chokes on the sound, keens as she shatters apart against him. "Ah—ah—I—Laxus!"

At the sound of his name on her lips, lightning flares within him, almost painfully hot in his core, and he arches up into her depths with a growl, reaching his peak as she trembles in the throes of hers. He feels himself let go hard into her, wet heat into wet heat— she's still shuddering above him, and the moment is perfect, fiery and thrumming with satisfaction.

"Six weeks." She slumps forward onto his chest with a groan, draping herself over him like a silken, sensual, sweet-smelling blanket. He feels her nuzzle and tuck her nose into his neck like a cat, and almost laughs at the familiarity of the gesture. "_Six weeks_," she repeats in a sleepy whisper. The phrase almost sounds like a curse word, the way she says it.

His muscles feel like they've been replaced by fluid, but he agonizingly lifts up an arm and drops it heavily around her, pulling her more tightly into him. "Too long," he mutters into her ear. "Look what you did to us."

"Broke you," she breathes back, eyes closed. "Mr. Mopey at the guild. I was fine."

"Liar. You wanted me while you were gone."

"Nope."

"You always want me."

"You're stupid."

"Doesn't change the fact. You missed me."

She curls herself more closely into the circle of his arm. Her hair tumbles rampant over his chest. He feels her smile against him. "Fine, Dreyar. _Maybe _I missed you."

He chuckles, rolls over, fits himself to her until he feels like she'll never leave his arms again. "Fine, Alberona. Maybe I missed you too."


	9. Clumsiness

_Cana Alberona doesn't do clumsiness._

She doesn't see the ragged brown fabric until her feet catch on it and she's plummeting towards the ground.

She should have expected it, really— Gildarts is in town, and, being the forgetful idiot he is, ends up leaving his cloak all around the guild on a regular basis. Laki's already threatened to pin it up on the highest tree in Fiore if he doesn't quit leaving it on her seat. Natsu and Grey are eying it from their table, obviously planning some plot sure to end in bodily injury. Mira and Lucy are taking bets on which of the boys will spend the most time in the hospital afterwards. Erza faces off with an entire strawberry cake at the bar while Levy plays cards with Asuka on top of a table. Laxus sits with Freed and Bickslow, nursing a beer, staring moodily out the window and absolutely _not _at her. Stubborn bastard. He's brooding too much again. Maybe she'll go drink with him later.

Just a normal day at the guild.

Except for fucking Gildarts' cloak.

She falls, landing on her left wrist—_hard. _Her hand goes numb, and a moment later, brilliant pain shoots up her forearm. She sprawls out on the wood, swearing passionately, before sitting carefully up and examining her arm. "Fucking hell, shit, ow!"

"_Cana!" _Laxus is at her side immediately. She can see him scanning her body with his eyes, making sure she's not injured. His eyes narrow when he notices her cradled wrist, then harden to steel when they fix on the fabric cause of her fall. He carefully brushes his fingertips over her wrist, jerks them back when she hisses in pain. His eyes glint with relief that she's not hurt worse. "Thunder, I think it's sprained."

"Feels like it," she groans, gingerly hugging the limb to her chest. "Fuck, this hurts." _Though at least the rest of the guild isn't gawking at me._

"You'll be okay," he mutters, supporting her back with a wide palm. "Just take a week of rest. The hag'll get you all fixed up."

"Ow, shit— wait, she hates me!"

"She'll do it anyway." His gaze meets hers, dark and deep. She feels herself relax, just being near him. His lips quirk at the edges and he offers her his hand to pull her upright. She reaches out to take it, and—

The guild wall behind her explodes inward in a spray of Crash magic— heads begin to whip towards Cana, still sitting. Gildarts strides through, face concerned. "Cana?" he bellows. "Your Alarm card triggered— I came as soon as I could." Catching sight of Laxus crouched on the floor next to her, he stills, mouth flattening into a thin line. "Did this son of a bitch do this to you, Cana-chan? I'll _end _this bastard." Magic ripples around him as he powers up. Laxus starts to surge to his feet, but Cana hooks her good hand around his wrist and tugs him back down, soothing him with her hand on his shoulder.

"Your fucking cloak did, Dad!" She glares at Gildarts. "You left it on the guild floor! I tripped and sprained my damn wrist."

He freezes. "My… cloak?"

She _growls._

He looks awkward for a moment, then grins sheepishly. "Oops?"

She rolls her eyes, prepared to chew out her _baka _father, but before she can launch into her diatribe, brilliant light flashes into her vision from the—furiously angry, she notices belatedly— man beside her. Lightning crackles higher and higher up the walls of the guild, dancing over the bar top, winding around the rafters. Thunder crashes outside, dark and ominous, as Laxus smoothly extricates himself from her grasp and stands to face Gildarts.

She winces, suddenly remembering the last time Laxus and Gildarts met. And the resulting massive amounts of property damage. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not going to be pretty. _"Laxus, I'm fine. Just sprained a wrist. All good."

"All good?" The lightning brightens, intensifying around Laxus's still form. She can tell that his fists are clenched, even though he's still presenting a calm appearance. She knows he's seething inside. "You don't seem all good. You seem like you're in pain."

She swears vehemently under her breath. Stupid alpha male reflexes. _Shit, I hope Master doesn't charge me for this… _

Lightning suddenly spears straight down through the guild ceiling in front of Gildarts, illuminating him in a spray of sparks and searing light. Gildarts fixes Laxus with a dangerous, leonine gaze. His tone, when he speaks, can rival Gray's ice. "Sure you want to play this game, Dreyar?"

"What game, Clive?" Laxus _snarls. _He's not disguising the fury in his tone now. The mages around the two are starting to back away. Cana helplessly watches from the floor as Lucy shoos Asuka and Levy under the bar top and crouches down next to them. Gajeel moves to stand defensively in front of Wendy and Pantherlily. Erza calmly knocks Natsu out to prevent him from challenging Gildarts and Laxus to a battle. Laxus ignores them all. "You mean your daughter's wellbeing is just a _game _to you?"

"Don't you dare imply I don't care about Cana," Gildarts spits. "I love my daughter! I would never want her hurt."

Laxus scoffs. "Doesn't seem like you're doing a very good job, old man."

"Why, you—!" Gildarts' magic surges around him, humming, shaking, forcing the very air in the guild into an agitated vibration. His face is set, bones standing out starkly in his rage. "Don't you talk to me about my daughter, Dreyar."

Laxus' magic is seeping out of him too, crackling and hissing over the wide breadth of his shoulders and arms. His eyes, dark and deadly, fix on Gildarts. "You hurt her with your stupidity, Clive. Pretty sure that gives me the right."

Gildarts chuckles coldly. "Please. You'll never have that right."

Laxus' mouth firms. "Where were you when she fell? Outside, playing games in the dust?" Lightning spirals around his form. "I was here. By her side."

"Please. Like she wants you there. You don't deserve to be anywhere near her, Dreyar," Gildarts growls, and Cana sees with frozen horror where this is going, "Not after what you did to this guild. Not after what your _father _did."

Laxus' eyes widen minutely. Only Cana sees the hurt flicker in their blue-grey depths, and it cuts, sears at her insides. She knows him, knows him too well, sees the flex of his shoulders as he prepares to hurl lightning at her idiot father, realizes he'll destroy the guild if he lets go. She staggers to her feet, throwing herself in front of him. "Laxus, stop!"

His eyes are locked on Gildarts' over her head. "Get out of the way, Thunder."

"No." She reaches up, places a gentle palm on his cheek, turns his head to hers. He tries to shake her off and she moves to grasp the other side of his face, hissing as her injured wrist sends a flash of stinging pain as a reminder that she's unable to move it.

"Cana," he's looking at her helplessly, torn in between wanting to go to her and fight her father, and she's suddenly reminded of the night he sat in the rain waiting for her to come outside. He looked the same way then, deeply hurt yet still trying to make things better. She realizes suddenly that he's not challenging Gildarts because he _wants _to— he's not an _idiot_, after all—, he's challenging him because he wants to make sure she won't be hurt again. It warms something inside of her, sending a hot, sweet swell inside her chest and through her entire body, that this incredible man keeps fighting to do the right thing through all his pain.

"It's okay," she whispers, stretching up on her tiptoes to brush his lips with hers, "I understand." And she does.

She prides herself on being a strong woman. She's been alone for fifteen years of her life, and does a damn good job keeping herself alive and functioning. She doesn't need anyone to take care of her, hasn't in a very long time. But there's a difference between being taken care of, and having someone _care._

She and Laxus are still figuring out their dynamic. They fight and they argue and they break up and get back together again. He sets things on fire and she beats him in poker and sometimes they just sit and drink together and watch the sun come up. They're still working out when to be taken care of and when to care_. _And in order to solve that distinction, she realizes that he needs to establish his place with Gildarts, because, fraught relationship or not, Gildarts is all the family she has.

She purposefully steps back, throws her good hand up in the air in exasperation. "You're both morons. Carry on."

Laxus _smirks, _and the sight sends a flush of relief—and maybe a little heat—through her entire body. "With pleasure, Thunder."

She rolls her eyes, turning to Gildarts and jabbing a finger at him. He's been watching her interaction with Laxus through narrowed, pensive eyes. She glares at her father. "You are _not_ allowed to break him."

Gildarts pouts. "Not even a little bit?"

"You break him, I break you." With that parting remark, she stalks away through the guild, tossing a final, "I'm going to go re-sprain my arm at Porlyusica's!" at the two men.

The door slams behind her.

"Who would've guessed I had such a clumsy daughter?" Gildarts muses in the silence left behind. He takes a step backward and catches his foot in the strap of Cana's blue feather purse, crashing to the ground in a series of heated curses.

Laxus snickers. "Like father, like daughter, eh, old man?"

Gildarts scowls at the blonde from the floor. "Just be thankful she likes you, Dreyar. Or else you'd be dust."

"Yeah, dust standing on my own two feet. Unlike you, _baka_."

"Asshole, I only have one foot."

"Look at the amount of fucks I don't give."

Listening to the banter between her father and her lover, Cana chuckles as she walks away from the guild, holding her arm close to her chest. Sometimes clumsiness comes in more than the form of a ragged brown cape or a fuzzy blue purse.

Luckily, she's more than prepared to help her two idiots get through it.


	10. Preparation

_Laxus Dreyar does not do preparation._

_Ding-dong._

He opens the door, and he's not even worried about how the food will taste or if this counts as a date— all he can think is that she looks fucking _amazing _in this dress.

He's staring at her as she strides into his living room, sleek black silk draped temptingly over her figure, seemingly-endlesssmooth legs bared until mid-thigh. He can just barely see the swell of her breasts over the strapless sweetheart neckline. _High_ black stilettos wrap barely-there bands around her slim ankles, drawing attention to the dainty line of her feet and the deep curve of her lower back. Her usual bangles hang from her wrists, and her armbands shine against the copper tone of her arms. Smoky makeup enhances her already sloe-eyed gaze, bright against the riotous tumble of her hair. She's, in a word, stunning.

He's already imagining her dress pooled on the floor of his bedroom.

"You look incredible," he manages to choke out, ushering her inside. His heart pounds in his chest, a run-away freight train on the loose inside of him. She struts over to him with confident, deliberate steps on those high, high heels, running a hand over his shoulder as she sways past to seat herself on the couch. He remains standing, supporting himself with his back against the doorframe.

"As do you," she purrs, tilting her head and letting her dark indigo gaze flick sensually over his dark slacks and soft black button-down. He feels heat rush through his limbs, imagines kissing her until she gasps his name, forces the thought down inside because he wants to give her the perfect evening she deserves. But the image of her locked in his arms, head thrown back, red lips parted as he presses scorching kisses down her throat, remains. And, dammit, it's hard to shake. He hates that she still has the power to reduce him to this, hates to look weak in front of her.

To distract himself from his own traitorous thoughts, he gets up to pour her a glass of wine. She takes it with a sultry grin, toasting him briefly before taking a slow, seductive sip, locking her gaze with his the entire time. She arches back her head and moans softly, letting the flavor fill her mouth. He's instantly overwhelmingly jealous of the wine.

Maybe he'll ask her to leave on the heels after he takes off her dress.

She smirks at him, crossing her _long_ legs, leaning back against his couch and spreading her arms out along the top of it like she owns the place. "This wine is delicious_._ I could drink it all night long."

She lets the words drop from her lips like black cherries, sweet and dangerous, and they pound in his blood even more. He's fighting to recover his self-control, to reign in this heady, straining need, and, damned vixen she is, she's not helping one bit.

"I made bruschetta for dinner," he tells her quickly, trying to defend himself against the game she's playing. "With tomato and basil. Is that okay?"

It works for the moment: her eyes widen and she arches a graceful eyebrow. "_You _know how to make bruschetta?"

"I grew up cooking for myself," he mutters, slumping back against the doorframe. "Had to learn a lot on my own."

She reclines, impressed. "You _are _a man of many talents." She absently traces her bottom lip with a slim fingertip. "What about chocolate syrup?"

"H-huh?" Instantaneously his mind bombards him with images of smooth dark chocolate spread over supple skin, her body bowing beneath his as he laps it from the curves of her stomach and— "I— I could, but—"

"For dipping strawberries?" she giggles, hiding her mouth innocently behind her hand. "I love them as a dessert. They're sweet, but just _dark_ enough to enjoy after a hot… steamy… workout." She leans forward between the words, letting him see a hint of her cleavage above the neckline of that damn dress. Fucking woman. She's toying with him, stringing out his reactions with her words, savoring every step he takes further into her trap.

And damn it all to hell, if he's not rock hard and ready and loving every moment of it as well. Fuck it. _If you can't beat them, join them._ And this is a game he's very, very good at playing.

"You sound excited," he rumbles, prowling forward so that he's sitting beside her on the couch. He lets his hand wander, skimming it up the supple length of her leg, locks his eyes with hers and smiles just as innocently as she. Her eyes dip down to half-mast and she quivers as his fingers trace over the inside of her knee, but other than that she remains outwardly casual.

"Maybe I am," she breathes back. "There's a lot to desire… about strawberries."

"I prefer the preparation myself," he hums, ducking in to nip at the shell of her ear, and she can't hold back her shiver at the touch of his lips. He lets his mouth skim the sensitive flesh between her jaw and her earlobe. "I like to go slow. Makes things heat up better."

She shudders against him, eyes closed, full lips parted to allow a ragged breath. "I— Laxus—"

He doesn't offer her any mercy, pressing his body flush against her back, letting one hand glide further up her thigh, the other sliding over her shoulder and brushing her thick curls away from the side of her throat. He rubs his cheek against her throat, feels the friction of stubble and her answering gasp, flicks his tongue over the curve of her shoulder. "But sometimes taking it fast can be equally satisfying, right, Thunder?"

This game is dizzying, a sweet battle of power, tempting him with her nearness as she trembles at his touch. He grins darkly against her shoulder and whispers, soft and sinful: "I like to push myself to my limits, go as hard as I can until I burst apart." A soft, half-choked moan emerges from her throat, and he smirks, leaning forward until his lips brush against her ear. He knows he's won. "But I don't think we'll need any of that until after I serve you some fucking _amazing _bruschetta."

And he stands up and promptly walks into the kitchen, like his blood isn't on fire and his body isn't screaming at him to ravish this beautiful siren until she can't walk. There, he slumps, arms locked and palms braced against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders as he tries to extinguish the heat roaring through his limbs.

There's stark silence from the other room, then Cana shouts, "Ass!" and throws a stiletto blindly through the doorway, followed by its twin. They miss him by a meter, skidding under the table like spiky black spiders.

"It's _really _good bruschetta," he assures her from the kitchen. "I don't want you to miss it because you can't keep your body under control."

"I— my body is _fine, _thank you!" She comes stalking barefoot into the kitchen, and he can't help but gaze at her in awe, thinking that she's glorious when she's angry. Her eyes blaze violet, hair snapping and untamed around her. Her flushed cheeks make her look like she's glowing.

He doesn't realize he's said so out loud until she glares at him with irritated, aroused eyes. She throws herself into one of his kitchen chairs, crosses her arms over her chest, and pouts. "This better be some damn good bruschetta."

He grins and offers her a dish of red fruit. "Have an appetizer. Strawberry?"


	11. Grief

_Cana Alberona doesn't do grief._

She can't breathe.

The building burns around her, thick, sticky soot clogging her throat and scraping her cheeks, but she can't stop moving, can't stop forcing her way through flaming doorways and collapsed conflagrations of ceilings. The damp rag tied over her mouth and nose only can do so much to keep the ash from her face. She keeps her cards spinning closely around her, casting spells of cooling and water to skim over her skin, acting as her own personal fire retardant. She knows the firefighters are trying to keep the fire from spreading outside; it's Fairy Tail's job to get the apartment's residents out.

She guards her face with her arms and pours more energy into her shield as part of the apartment complex's roof collapses with a roar. Angry red flames spill into the hole, stark against the dark night sky. She hears Natsu suck in a massive breath from far away, and the inferno flutters, dies down briefly, before resuming its natural heat with determination. Juvia's working side by side with Grey from the ground, launching powerful sprays of water and ice to try and restrain the raging inferno. Lucy's directing Aquarius towards some of the upper level windows as Scorpio smothers first-floor flames with his sand. Levy's Solid Script: Water and Max's sand magic reduce piles of smoldering embers to steaming darkness.

Distantly, she knows the other members of Fairy Tail are working as well, forging into the building to try and pull trapped residents from their burning apartments, much like she. She hopes they're okay. Wakaba and Macao, Jet and Droy, Gajeel and Erza, Mira, Elfman, the Raijinshuu, Laxus_…_

The very air in this apartment seems to glow red. Fire streams along the rafters, hisses and twines itself down the wooden walls like a bad-tempered serpent. The floor coughs up ash whenever she takes another step. Every move she makes feels like she's going to bring the entire room down on top of her. But she can't stop now. There are people trapped in here.

"Get out of the building!" The call comes suddenly from outside. She sees the chief firefighter clambering on top of his vehicle, megaphone clutched to his mouth. He swipes grey hair away from his eyes. His face is severe underneath the ashy stains. "The structure's becoming unstable. We need you to evacuate!"

_Are you fucking kidding me? _She's not going to leave a burning building while the residents are still in it, even if it collapses on top of her. She's lived without parents for almost her entire life. She knows the pain of losing family, and she won't let anyone go through that again. Not if she can help it. She ignores the chief and ducks through the fiery frame of a doorway. It looks like a child's bedroom.

"Cana! What are you doing?" Laxus' voice echoes amidst the crackling inferno. She whips around, sees him hovering outside a blown-out window, snarls at him that she won't let anyone die here. He growls. "The building's going to come down with you inside it!"

She's going to tell him that she doesn't care when she sees the first little hand, pale against the dark wood floor. Her words swell in her throat and the only thing she hears is her heartbeat—ka-_thump_, ka-_thump—_as she staggers forward. There's another, curled into a closed fist, connected to an arm, connected to a shoulder, connected to a small body, slumped under the bedframe. _No, please, no. _She can't see anything other than these two little kids, probably no more than eight, lying still and pale against the bed. And she immediately knows that they're not breathing, can't still be breathing through this smoke and heat, but, _Mavis, no, please don't let this be happening—_

She launches herself into the room, trying desperately to reach them, to help them, to do _something_, but before she can, the wall crashes down on top of her with a thunderous roar, bringing more of the ceiling down behind it. She struggles under its weight, feels her cards' magic sucked away almost instantaneously by the heat before it starts to burn. For a moment, she can't tell which hurts more, the flames against her skin or the searing pain in her chest. Then ashes drift down over her, soot clogs her throat, and she coughs and coughs until black spots explode in her vision, and—

_Oh. _She's outside on the ground, and someone's rubbing her back, encouraging her to breathe. _How did I get here?_

She sees Laxus kneeling a few feet away, panting hard. The fabric of his shirt's burnt away, revealing angry red blisters stark against the smooth skin of his back. He's streaked with soot, looks like he's been _swimming_ in the stuff, and she wonders vaguely if she looks the same. Everything's hazy, and she can't focus her eyes enough to check. Her entire body hurts.

"What happened to me—?" she chokes out before her chest seizes up and she breaks into spasming coughs. She tastes copper on her tongue, deduces that she's bleeding inside her throat.

"—smoke inhalation and second-degree burns," a paramedic's muttering next to her, pressing ice against her side. She gasps at the sudden sting.

Laxus's hand is in hers, and he's leaning over her, a look she's never seen before glinting in his eyes. "How do you feel?"

She tries to speak, hears her voice rasp like a rusty blade over the sounds. "I'm okay." The words bite at her throat like a hundred knives. He looks so grim, she starts to feel the chill of adrenaline tingle in her chest. She blinks at him. "What's going on?"

"What do you remember?" he says instead, gazing at her with soot-rimmed eyes. Tired, blank eyes that scare her.

"Laxus—" she starts, intending to reassure him that she's _okay, _but the memories come flooding back before she can say anything else and she jerks upright, looking frantically around, knocking the paramedic away from her. It feels like she's been shot in the chest. "Mavis, no, _no, _Laxus, say they're okay, say we got them out, please, _please_—"

He's shaking his head before she finishes, reaching out to her with a bandaged, charred hand, "Cana, the building collapsed on you and you were _burning—"_

_ "And so were they!" _she shrieks, not caring that the scream tears at her throat like claws. Good. Better that she hurt and bleed than remember. "They were trapped and waiting for help and we didn't _get there on time_— oh, God, Laxus—"

She can't breathe, and it's not the building on fire around her this time, it's her heart, scalding at her insides. He's clutching her to him, mouthing _I'm sorry _and _it wasn't your fault _and _it was the smoke, _and she's shattering apart inside, piece by jagged piece. The sobs shake her frame violently— she feels like she's going to throw up, but can't stop the wrenching convulsions any more than she could've stopped that damn wall from collapsing.

_Oh, Mavis, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I should've run faster, I should've gotten to them before, I should've— I should've—_

He's crying too. His tears carve trails through the soot on his dirty face, and she dimly realizes he's hurting as well, but can't make herself do anything other than drop her forehead against his collarbone. She sobs into his shoulder and he lets his silent tears roll down into her hair. They stay that way for hours.

The firefighters work around them, pouring water onto the inferno until finally, finally, as the sun peeks out over the bay, the flames die out. Juvia passes out into Gray's arms from sheer magic exhaustion, drained from the endless surges of water she directed into the building. Natsu's chest heaves as he falls to his knees, head dropped between his shoulders, blackened and blistered from his efforts to devour the flames. Lucy kneels beside him, comforting hand laid between his shoulder blades. Erza's also collapsed; a paramedic next to her mutters something about "evacuating an entire building" as he wraps bandages and ice around her arms. The rest of Fairy Tail, half-conscious, burnt and covered in soot, recovers around the smoking remains. Porlyusica and Wendy, urgently treating burns and blisters and lungs suffocated by smoke, have organized a makeshift hospital for the wounded residents.

In the golden light of the dawn, the billowing smoke takes on a shimmering sheen, almost pearly against the lightening sky. "Look," Laxus murmurs in her ear, holding her close as she shudders. "The sun's coming up."

She shakes her head weakly, eyes closed, breath hissing raggedly out over burnt lips as she forces back tears. "The sun will never come back up. Not after today."

He presses his lips to her temple, rocks her back in forth in his arms as she cries, offers her a quiet, unyielding support in her grief. "It will come up again." The smoke makes him sound like he's swallowed glass. His words ring in her ears, dizzying. She turns her head away. "The light will return to you, Cana. Give it time."

_Give it time. _How easy that would be for her to say if she hadn't seen what time could do in too small or too large doses. Too little time for help to arrive. Too much time for smoke to crawl its way into helpless lungs. A time to live, a time to die, indeed.

"It won't," she whispers instead, and the sobs claw their way back up her throat and she feels herself breaking apart inside, wraps her arms around herself to hold herself together. "It won't."

The sun rises on Magnolia early that morning, washing soot-stained walls and ragged remnants clean with clear golden light. Its rays catch on the figure of a scarred man kneeling on the ground, a woman with tearstained cheeks and bandages on her arms cradled to his chest. In the dawn light, her tears look almost like they're glowing.


	12. Romance

_Laxus Dreyar doesn't do romance._

He finds her adorable when she's drunk.

They're sprawled in a quiet corner, his back against the wall, legs spread out in front. She's curled up in his lap with a bottle in her hand. Snow falls heavily outside, he can see through the windows, but inside it's warm and bright. She presses her nose into his shoulder, and tells him that "I'm gonna drink Gildarts into the fucking _floor _next time he challenges me."

He strokes her back soothingly. "I know you will, Thunder."

She's sulking. "He's ruining my reputation. Says I passed out first." At his raised eyebrow, she huffs and flops against him, her back to his chest. "Well, I _didn't._"

Mavis, she's cute like this, all pink-cheeked and tipsy. "Of course not."

Mollified, she takes a moody sip from her bottle and watches the ongoing party through narrowed, hazy eyes. "Gildarts is stupid."

"You're half-Gildarts, Thunder," he murmurs into her ear.

She hits him weakly in the side. "Well, he's half-stupid."

He ducks his head into the curve of her neck, presses a fanged grin against her smooth skin as she pouts. "Whatever you say."

Fire explodes to his left and Gray comes hurtling into the wall beside him. Natsu violently follows, further shattering the wood into splinters. Lucy's restraining a flustered Erza from beating the boys up more.

"They're loud," Cana murmurs, sleepily nuzzling her way further into his chest. He supposes that's true. Mira and Gajeel are leading a karaoke contest at the front of the room, complete with full speaker system and crackling static. Gildarts is drinking with Makarov at the bar, both taking turns smashing their mugs down on the bar top and calling to Kinana for "Another round!" Evergreen's assaulting Elfman with her fan while Bickslow and Lisanna laugh from the sidelines.

Ah, just like normal.

"Cana-chan!" Macao and Wakaba skid to a halt in front of them. They're wide-eyed. "Is it true that Gildarts _beat _you in a drinking contest?"

She raises her head, fixes them with a baleful, poisonous glare. "_No._"

Macao frowns. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure he said—"

She tilts her head up and levels a pleading gaze at Laxus from under his chin. "Laxus, will you zap him? He doesn't believe me!"

Laxus snickers. He loves wiping that smug leer off Conbolt's face. "With pleasure, Thunder." Lightning crackles into life around him, much to Cana's delight. Macao pales and starts to sweat anxiously. "I, uh— Cana, I never meant—"

"We'll be going now," Wakaba squeaks, taking Macao by the shoulders and marching him back towards the bar. "No need for zapping!"

Watching them go, Laxus lets the magic fade with a satisfied smirk. Cana giggles to herself in his lap. "They're both stupid."

He shrugs. "You're the one who insists on drinking with them, Thunder."

She grins happily. "I like stupid people." Pause. "That's why I like you!" She says this with the wide-eyed shock of discovering a type of alcohol she's never tasted.

He scowls at her, holding a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. "That's the only reason you like me?"

She turns around so she's facing him, waving a finger in his face. He tilts his head forward so his forehead rests against hers. She purses her lips, concentrating on pronouncing her words correctly. "No, _baka. _I like you because you bring me sweet buns from the pastry shop. And you give me your coat when I'm cold. And you carry me home." She thinks for a moment. "And you're hot."

Brow furrowed in deep contemplation, she's so cute it hurts. He drops a quick kiss on her lips. She blinks. "What was that for?"

"Liking me."

"That's stupid. Of course I'd like you."

She says it like it's a given fact. It warms something deep inside him, and he feels the glow resonate through his entire body. _Of course I'd like you._

Her mouth opens in a huge yawn and she shakes her head like a kitten, letting out a breath and swiping at her eyes. She snuggles down back into his chest, drawing the edges of his coat around them both to form a toasty burrow. "Wake me up tomorrow."

He dips his head to nuzzle hers. "As my lady commands."

As the party winds down, he'll pick her up, wrapping her in his coat to keep her warm as he walks them back to her apartment. She'll twine her hands in his sleeves, asking him to stay with her, and he'll fold himself next to her and hold her until she wakes up in the morning.

"Why doesn't Laxus ever do anything romantic?" he'll overhear Mira ask Cana the next evening at the bar. "Don't you want him to show up with flowers and sweep you away into the sunset?"

He'll see Cana shrug and grin wordlessly. Mira and the rest of the guild look for romance in chocolate and midnight picnics and declarations of love. They don't understand that for Cana and him, romance comes in the form of normal day-to-day life. Bringing over sweet buns. Lending a coat. Listening to drunken rambles. Offering soothing words after defeat. Mocking their _nakama_. Watching over the guild together.

"Does he even believe in romance?" Lucy will join in, animated and intrigued.

Cana will smile to herself and sip her drink, watching the guild carry on their shenanigans. She'll catch Laxus' eye across the guild and wink, blowing a kiss in his direction before turning to her rematch with Gildarts. That evening, she won't need a knight to sweep her away into the sunset at all— she'll have a dragon to carry her home.


	13. Commitment

_Cana Alberona does not do commitment._

She sighs happily, relaxing into the couch with a mug of her favorite plum brandy. Laxus accompanied Gildarts on a job the past week, and since nothing's been destroyed or struck with lightning for the past hour, she assumes they haven't returned yet. _Just a quiet night at home. _

Or not.

"Cana!" She jumps as he bursts through the door in a swirl of lightning and fur collar. He's grinning widely as he dashes over to her. Catching her hands in his, he tugs her up from the couch, placing her mug on the side table. "Come on, you're going to miss it!"

_The fuck? _She gapes at him, confused. One moment she's sipping her drink, alone at home, the next, her boyfriend swoops in and tries to yank her out of her apartment. "What's going on, Laxus?"

He ignores her, grabbing her by the hand and bodily pulling her out the door. He glances back, laughing. "Hurry! We're late!"

The night air's warm against her skin as they stumble outside, her bare feet catching on the rough concrete. He pulls her into her backyard, jubilant with some unrestrained glee, as happy as she's ever seen him. He looks younger, almost lighter, as if he's suddenly lifted some heavy weight from his shoulders.

He skids to a stop within the small, enclosed yard, drawing her with him. He's laughing, exhilarated and free, and she finds herself smiling with him. She's never heard him laugh with the sheer joy with which he does now.

The August night hums around them, a dark, star-spangled velvet stillness that seems to caress their limbs with soothing whispers. Crickets banter in the shadows. The grass brushes cool and fresh against her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asks, placing a hand on her hip. "I was all settled in."

He grins toothily, and she feels the same amazement as before well up inside of her. He's never smiled like this before. "Eh, Cana, you would've missed it!"

She huffs, blowing her bangs away from her eyes. "_What_ am I missing?"

He laughs. "God, I love you."

"You better. I'm leaving my plum brandy for you."

He chuckles at her scowl, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss to her lips. "It's worth it."

She throws her hands up in the air. "_What is it?"_

"It happens every four hundred years—" he starts to tell her, but breaks off to whip her around, pointing up at the dark sky. "There! Look!"

His chest against her back and his hands, hot at her waist, distract her for a moment, but then she tilts her head back and lets her eyes adjust to the soft night. The stars glisten like diamonds on their field of black, solid and constant as her own heartbeat, except— there!

A blaze of light streaks across the dark sky, setting the black on fire for just a second, then gone. She hisses in shock. "Laxus, it's—"

"They're part of a star shower," he murmurs in her ear as another flash illuminates the night. "It only passes through our sky about once every four centuries. It takes a long time. But it always comes back."

She's breathless as more and more stars flare, incandescent, through the sky. "They're beautiful!"

The starlight's starting to take on an ethereal tint, glazed in a golden haze from the brightness overhead. The shower paints the sky with hues of crimson and violet, hot washes of orange and gold and cooler sweeps of cream and taupe.

The light catches in his eyes as he pulls at her hand to turn her to face him. His face is alive with that same intangible, soaring joy, and it catches at something inside of her, searingly deep. "Cana, I wanted to ask you something."

She's flooded with the excitement of the star shower, awash in the brilliance of the night and the familiar press of his body against hers. She feels like she's floating, unable to tether herself down to this wild, wonderful night. "I'm here."

The brightness sparks off his eyelashes as he drops his eyes closed for a moment. "When I was younger, I wanted to catch a star, you know?" He opens them again, shrugs a little. "It seemed like if I tried hard enough, if I climbed high enough and jumped far enough, I could pull one down from the sky with me as I fell." Laughing now, "Needless to say, it never worked."

She blinks. "Right." Red and gold streamers flutter across her vision in a vivid afterimage. She scrunches her nose and shakes her head to try to clear her sight.

"I realized that the only way I could ever hold a star would be if it fell from the sky on its own accord," he murmurs. "A shooting star." He raises his head and fixes her with his full, blue-grey-turned-crimson-gold gaze. "You're my shooting star, Cana."

"I'm your _what?" _She thought she was confused _before._

"You're fiery, brilliant, beautiful. Strong. You refuse to be pinned in one spot—you move how you will." He grins suddenly, his features sharpened in the bright starlight. "You're a hell of a woman."

"Laxus, what are you—" _He can't be saying what I think he's saying._

"I'm asking you if you'll fall from the sky for me," he whispers, and, _oh_, his eyes seem to hold all the light of the stars in them as he looks at her. "I'm asking you if you'll stay with me forever."

She's off-kilter, off-balance. She can't seem to see through the cascades of gauzy brilliance. " Laxus—"

"Cana Alberona—" and the shimmering sky opens up in a shower of golden dust, raining down around them like a rainstorm— "Will you marry me?"

And she's in his arms suddenly, shaking her head and clutching him to her and half-sobbing, "Yes, yes, _yes,_" and the starlight just falls around them in brilliant curtains, sweeping and breathtakingly sweet. They stay, embracing, as the sky slowly darkens back to deep velvet, the diamond-bright shower finally arcing its way over the horizon. The August air returns to its normal hum, no longer saturated with brilliant light and golden dust. The crickets start up their conversations once more.

"Are you sure?" she feels him whisper into her hair.

She sighs, laughs. "Yes."

"Totallysure?"

At the hesitation in his tone, she stretches up on her tiptoes and presses an achingly sweet kiss to his lips. "Totally sure. I'm yours, Laxus. Always have been, always will be."

"Mine," he echoes. A smile starts to spread over his face. "You know, I've never had anyone to call mine before."

She grins, reaching up to kiss him again. "Now you have me."

_ Of course I'll stay with you, _baka_._

_ You're mine, too._


	14. Hesitation

_Laxus Dreyar does not do hesitation._

He's convinced this tie is designed to strangle him.

He reaches up to forcefully loosen it, yanking the black strip straight against his white shirt. He curses as lightning sparks over his fingertips, nearly singing the fabric. Fucking tuxedo.

He doesn't even know why he's all dressed up in this shit. He prefers his normal clothes, not this fancy crap. It feels like he's drowning under the layers. His tie clearly has it out for him. He's worried that the crimson rose pinned to his lapel is going to stab through his coat and gouge him.

He's certainly not nervous about the fact that he's getting married in an hour.

Not at fucking _all_.

"Look at you, brat," Porlyusica scowls from the doorway. Laxus turns to see the healer resting her cloaked shoulder against the doorframe, frowning darkly. "About to get married."

Laxus ignores her, focusing on adjusting his fucking tie before it kills him. "What do you want, hag?"

His grandmother glares at him, gliding into the room and kicking the door shut behind her. "Just checking to see how you are."

"Meaning you want to make sure I'm not going to do anything stupid," the blonde scoffs. "Che, I'm not going to fuck this up, you know." The snark drops out of his tone for a moment, replaced by an uncharacteristic tenderness. "She's all I've ever wanted."

The healer pauses. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're not sure about whether you're ready for this."

Laxus opens his mouth, but the words seem to choke in his throat. The hag's hit the nail on the head, much to his frustration. "I—no. I'm not worried." He doesn't mention the adrenaline running like ice through his veins or the tension twisting in his stomach.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"I'm not, hag!" It sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. He winces, hating his weakness— he loathes showing vulnerability in front of anyone, let alone Porlyusica. "I just don't want things to get fucked up."

She cocks her head. "Why would things get fucked up?"

_ My dad being a total asshole. My inability to do anything right. The fact that my entire fucking guild is dressed up and packed inside Kardia Cathedral. _He opts for the easiest excuse. "You know the idiots in my guild, hag. They'll blow shit up and start drinking competitions in the aisles."

"Bullshit." She narrows her eyes. He hates how her gaze punches through his defenses like steel. "Why are you hesitating now, Laxus?"

_Fucking hell. _He throws his hands up in the air. "What do you want me to say, Grams? She's fucking perfect. She's amazing, strong, beautiful. She deserves everything the world has to give her. And I'm—" his throat works as he struggles to put his stress into words, glaring at the healer— "I'm so fucked up. I'm broken. I ruin everything I touch." He breaks off, clenching his fists. Lightning crackles around him, a manifestation of his overflowing emotions. He bows his head, whispers brokenly: "And she wants _me. _How can I trust myself to give her everything when all I've done is break her?"

_Crack!_

Porlyusica's hand slaps him across the face with surprising force, and he reels back in shock, clutching a palm to his cheek. "Hag, what the hell—?"

"You listen to me, Laxus Dreyar, and you listen well," she tells him, glaring at him with darkened eyes. "You're an _idiot_."

He snorts. "Thanks."

"I'm not done yet." She scowls. "You think you've broken that girl? She's waiting for you in that cathedral. Because _she _thinks you're worth it. Because _she _wants what you offer her. Love. Trust. _Hope_."

He turns his head away. "Grams—"

She ignores him. "You think you've ruined everything you've touched, brat? There's an entire city of people who've turned out to congratulate you and honor you for deeds you've done. Your idiot guild is raising hell out there because _that's _what they consider respect. You've saved countless lives, changed thousands of others for the better."

"I've hurt them—"

"So have I, _baka_," she exclaims in annoyance. "So has Makarov. So has that moron Natsu. People get hurt. People recover. It's how it is."

"Grams," he whispers, and his voice fills with quiet desperation, "_I don't want to hurt her."_

She chuckles softly, reaching out to place a hand on his wide shoulder. Her eyes are soft when she meets his gaze this time. "Cana's a strong girl, Laxus. She knows what she's getting into. She's full of fire, that one." She huffs affectionately. "Pain and joy come hand in hand, brat. The key is making sure the pain never outweighs the joy."

He lets her words sink into him, and it's like a heavy burden lifts from his shoulders, replaced by a seeping, glowing happiness. He grins at the healer. "Didn't know you were so deep, hag."

She fixes her grandson with her signature scowl, though it now seems tempered with a light-heartedness rarely seen from the healer. "Not a word from you, brat. You have a wedding to get on the road."

As if on cue, someone hammers on his door. "Laxus!" Bickslow shouts. "We're on in fifteen minutes."

"Get out of the way," he hears Evergreen hiss, then the door flies open and the Raijinshuu pile into his room. Freed and Bickslow look dapper in classic tuxedos, while Evergreen fiddles with the tight bodice of her formal green dress. All three wear crimson roses pinned to their chests.

"Isn't this a touching sight," Porlyusica mutters dryly. "All four of you idiots, back together again."

"Porlyusica-san!" Freed bows elegantly to the healer. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I despise being around this many humans," she tells him flatly.

Bickslow smirks widely. "Porlyusica-san, I bet you'd be great to get drunk with after the ceremony." _Drunk, get drunk with you! _his dolls echo happily. _After the ceremony! Great to drink with!_

Laxus glowers at the Seith Mage. "You are _not _drinking with my grandmother."

Bickslow pouts. "You're no fun." _No fun, _his babies exclaim, _no fun!_

Giving Bickslow a disgusted sneer, Porlyusica makes her way to the door. Turning, she fixes Laxus with a serious glare. "Behave out there, brat. Don't make this girl regret coming back to you. You're less insufferable now, but still a pain in the ass."

He grins. "But now I get to be her pain in the ass, not yours." He knows this is as much a declaration of love as he'll ever get from the prickly healer.

"Thank Mavis," he hears her grumble as she slams the door to his room.

His three idiots gaze at him now with wide, heartfelt eyes. Evergreen's the first to throw herself across the room and embrace him— Bickslow and Freed quickly follow, dogpiling him in a swirl of tuxedos and crimson boutonnieres.

"This is it, boss," Bickslow murmurs, fixing him with a green-eyed stare. "You're sure?"

"Fuck, yes," he smirks. "Let's do this."

"Laxus," Evergreen says tearfully, "the Raijinshuu will be with you every step of the way!"

He reaches out and ruffles her hair— she bats his hand away in frustration, yelling at him to not mess up her hairstyle. He ignores her. "I know that, _baka_. You guys have _always _been with me."

"Laxus—" Freed whispers, eyes shining with tears.

Bickslow shoots the blonde a proud smile. "Now, let's go get you married."

The walk through the cathedral is a short one, the length of the aisle even shorter. Standing at the altar, he scans the crowd, taking in all the familiar faces. Decked out in his best suit, Makarov sits in the front pew next to an irritable Porlyusica. Mirajane and Erza are talking with Jura Nekis and Lyon Vastia from Lamia Scale, while Natsu appears to be challenging Sabertooth's Sting Eucliffe to a tie-tying competition. A delegation from Mermaid Heel and Blue Pegasus' Trimens occupy another section of the crowd, as do several hungover mages from Quatro Cerberus. Magnolia citizens file in from the back, further enlarging the crowd until even the farthest seats are filled. The Raijinshuu take their place at the side of the altar, proudly watching their leader stand tall at the very front of the room.

Music swells through the air and the crowd begins to quiet. The priest steps forward, greeting the crowd and welcoming them to the event. There are a few snickers when he refers to the wedding as a "joyous and harmonious matrimony," but the normally-rowdy crowd remains relatively well behaved.

_Holy shit, this is actually happening._

Laxus swallows, mouth suddenly dry, as the doors in the back of the cathedral swing open, and—

_Sweet. Fucking. Mavis._

She's walking towards him, arm tucked into a tuxedoed Gildarts', a vision in pure, sweeping white. Her dress clings closely to her well-shaped chest and slender waist, flaring at her hips to spill loosely to the floor. The white satin makes her tanned skin look even warmer, he notices as if in a dream, contrasting starkly against the rich tumble of her unbound curls. A spray of vibrant indigo wildflowers brightens the darkness of her hair, and she carries a bouquet of the same violet blooms, thickened with clusters of lilacs and Queen Anne's lace. She's the most utterly, overwhelmingly, breathtakingly beautiful woman upon whom he's ever laid eyes.

Before he knows it, she's reached the altar, taking her place opposite him. Gildarts glares once at Laxus— "Take care of my baby girl, Dreyar, or so help me, I will _crush_ you"— and falls back to sit beside Makarov and Porlyusica, staring at his daughter with tear-filled eyes.

Cana's standing across from him now, and all he can do is rake his eyes over her stunning face and thank every power he knows for allowing him to love her. She raises a thick-lashed orchid gaze to his, smiling radiantly, and he can't help it— he grins back like the besotted idiot he is. "Ready?"

She smirks. "Hell, yeah."

_I'm not hesitating any longer, Cana. I'm ready to be yours, always and forever._


	15. Love

_Cana Alberona does not do love._

She wakes up and smiles, because she never thought it could be like this.

Easy. Effortless. Comfortable.

Warm.

Her husband twines his arms around her waist, pulling her closer against him, nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck. "Cana," he growls, half-muffled by his pillow, "go the fuck back to sleep." He rumbles in satisfaction and molds his body to hers when she relaxes into his arms.

She remembers first meeting the forbidding lightning dragonslayer, intimidated by his much larger frame and much more powerful magic. He'd been so strong even then, strong enough to catch her attention as he slouched against the wall, listening to his music. That strength had caught her by surprise during her first S-class exam, and she'd spent the following week analyzing _exactly _how he'd wielded his lightning so that she'd know how to counter the next time.

They'd grown older together, unwilling friends, enthusiastic enemies. She'd fought him twice again during the S-class exams, left each time hurting in the dust. He'd grinned while they'd fought, told her she needed to concentrate more on him as an opponent than him as a guildmate. She'd hit him with everything she had, refusing to acknowledge his point: that when she attacked, all she could see was the little boy who first introduced her to Fairy Tail.

She smiles as she thinks back to their first kiss, their first time. She'd danced for him, loving her control over her body, feeling his heated gaze stroke over her form. He'd wanted her then, told her so in no uncertain terms, and she'd agreed, following the urges of her flesh. He'd been dark and dominant and impatient, setting her skin ablaze with the trails of his hands and body. She'd been unable to break her addiction to him after that, craving him like a drug, returning again and again, and he'd come back to her too, helpless against his body's yearning.

Fantasia shattered the guild after that. He left while she stayed behind, both feeling the loss burn against them like a missing limb, though unrealized at the time. His betrayal stung her heart. Her abandonment froze his. The S-class nominations shattered through their pain, forcing them back together on one of her missions. They'd started to heal there.

Tenroujima and Acnologia forged them together, and afterwards, left them to settle back into normalcy. He'd returned. They'd rebuilt from their ashes, renewing both the guild and their relationship. The chaos of Tartaros had almost ended him, but he'd survived. She'd realized that she couldn't live without him.

She still can't, she muses, glancing back at his disheveled blonde spikes. This arrogant, proud, powerful man has slipped his way into her heart for good.

"'M not letting you go," he grunts in his sleep, his grip tightening around her. "Stop being so damn stubborn."

_Baka. _She'd worried that their lives wouldn't mesh, that she'd be too weak for him to be strong, that he'd be too broken for her to be whole. But her worries had been in vain. Gildarts had been the one to set her mind at ease, nursing his wounds after a scuffle with the lightning dragonslayer at her wedding reception. "Even if he's a power-hungry, thick-headed, insensitive asshole," her idiot father had muttered unhappily, avoiding her furious glower, "I suppose he's smart enough that he won't do anything reckless and hurt you." And he hadn't.

In fact, he'd given her the greatest gift of all.

Love. Trust. Family.

"Mommy! Daddy!" A short brown-haired boy speeds into the room and leaps onto the bed, shoving his way between Cana and Laxus. "You guys said we could go to the guild early today and see Grandpa Gildarts! Let's go, let's go!"

Laxus moans pathetically and tries to bury himself in his pillow. "Five more minutes, Luke."

"Daddy, come _on!"_

Laxus tries to evade the six-year-old's pleading grey puppy eyes. "Cana, please—"

"He's your kid," she groans back, squeezing her eyes closed. "You deal with him."

A little girl springs up on the bed next to Laxus, violet eyes glimmering under jagged blonde bangs. "Daddy," she wails dramatically, "you _said _we could go!"

"No, I didn't, Conny," Laxus mutters gloomily. "I hate that bastard."

"He said he'd teach me how to break walls today!" Luke squeals joyfully, bouncing on top of a prone Cana.

His sister pouts, playing with strands of Laxus' hair. The dragonslayer groans pitifully and tries to cover his ears with his pillow. "He didn't say he'd teach _me _that!"

"It's because I'm better."

"No way, _baka!"_

"Yes way, stupid!"

Cana, taking pity on her exhausted husband, reaches over and grabs her son under one arm, bundling her daughter under the other. She plops them down on the bed in front of her. "Both of you, behave, or _no one _gets to walk through walls with Gildarts today. Understand?"

Her children immediately bolt upright, eyes wide. "Aye, sir!"

"Good. Now Mommy's going to go back to bed for a little while, okay?" _Oh, sweet, blessed sleep, come to mama._

"Okay," Conny mutters sulkily, kicking her feet unhappily.

Luke opens his mouth, glancing out of the room, then closes it again. "Um… Mommy?"

_Just ten minutes. Sweet Mavis, please. _"Yeah, sweetie?"

The little boy frowns. "I know you said if we don't behave we don't get to walk through walls with Grandpa…"

"That's right."

Her son glances up at her with worried steel-grey eyes. "Then why does Lila get to?"

_What?_

"Lila's already _practicing_!" Conny exclaims, eyes narrowing with the unfairness. "Mommy_! _You _said!"_

_Fucking hell. _Detaching herself from her warm, cozy bed, Cana lets her two kids drag her through the doorway. Her mouth falls open in shock when she sees her four-year-old daughter sitting on a pile of bricks, staring through a newly gaping hole in the living room wall. "Lila, baby, what happened?"

Lila beams at her mother through her mop of auburn curls. "It got all dusty!" At Cana's frozen expression, the little girl purses her lips thoughtfully. "You wanted another window, Mommy! I was _helping."_

"_Laxus!"_

Her husband appears in the bedroom doorway at her shriek, shirtless and sleepy, blearily rubbing the back of his head. His eyes fly wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. Lila sits happily in the pile of rubble left by a gigantic hole in the wall. Conny and Luke cling to Cana's hands, jumping around and bickering about who gets to see Gildarts first, as Cana tries to explain to her four-year-old why sometimes "listening to Mommy when she comes home from the bar isn't always the best idea, sweetie."

Her words flow like water off the little girl as Lila critically examines her new "window" and pronounces it the "best window in the world!"

"Come here, princess," Laxus groans, scooping up his youngest and heading into the kitchen. "I'm making pancakes," he adds, almost magically summoning Conny and Luke with him. Lila waves gleefully at her mother as she disappears into the kitchen, accidentally taking out part of the doorframe with her hand.

_Sweet Mavis. _Cana pales as she realizes that she now has a magically aware four-year-old on her hands— who happens to possess the same affinity for destruction as her father. _Whatever I did to offend you, I'm so, so sorry._

She wonders if it would be better to have stayed in bed after all. Then again, her crazy family would've found a way to wake her up anyway.

"Cana," Laxus calls from the kitchen, poking his blonde head through the doorway. Flour whitens his morning scruff, and a dollop of dark jam slides gracefully down the bridge of his nose. "Banana or blueberry?"

She's never thought he looked more handsome.

"Berry for me," she murmurs back, walking over to take his hand.

He grins, leaning in to brush her lips with his. "Good morning, Thunder."

"One of the best." She sighs, laughs helplessly, returning his kiss with a smile. "Now, you mentioned pancakes?"

He smirks, ushering her into the kitchen with a bow. "Only for you, milady. Only for you."


End file.
